


A Rocky Road

by RoadrunnerGER



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, Interrogation, Prison, Psychological Torture, Suspense, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoadrunnerGER/pseuds/RoadrunnerGER
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration have taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I discovered Spooks in the seventh season I was hooked and could not shake off this plot bunny about Lucas's imprisonment. It would not leave me alone, so I decided to save a few lines. I should have known better...

**Moscow**

**August 26, 1999**

 

  Lucas inhaled deeply as he entered the Russian State Library in Moscow and the musty, dusty, tannic smell of millions of books tickled his nostrils. The sun filtering in through the windows cast rays of light with dancing dust which reminded Lucas of the famous black and white photographs of the Grand Central Station in New York. This was a perfect place to meet Katya Belousova, his contact, with lots of nooks and crannies where they could find privacy, miles of shelves in which they could disappear if someone was trying to be nosy, and hundreds of academics milling about so that a man carrying a book or a file folder would not look out of place. Also, just being surrounded by so much learning and literature soothed his ragged nerves.

  He had been on edge since his plane had landed in Moscow, which, in a way, made sense; but the dreadful and irrational fear that his cover as a businessman had been compromised did not and the comfortable familiarity of books calmed him for the first time since he had arrived in Russia. He would have loved to use the opportunity to find some rare volume and delve into the depth of good literature. As he had a job to do, though, he had to forsake a good, calming read and concentrate on the mission.

  They had agreed to meet in the recent periodicals reading room, which suited Lucas just fine. He had decided to arrive early and wait for Katya so that he could survey the surroundings and make sure they were not being watched, and that would be easier to do from the pages of a newspaper or tabloid where he would be expected to look up and glance around occasionally as he finished reading one article and turned to another. Were his nose buried in some lengthy Russian novel, the behaviour would be much more suspicious.

  Upon entering the reading room, Lucas instinctively registered how many people were present. In the far left corner were two young men and a woman sitting at a table, studying piles of magazines. A man in his own age stood at a rack, searching the editions that were laid out there. He also knew that there were three persons behind him now, two women in the left corner and an elderly man to his far right. Even though it was more likely that the single man ahead posed a threat, Lucas tended to believe that he should rather be careful about the two women.

  The calm that had initially filled him in the presence of so many books evaporated at seeing Katya waiting for him. Knowing that she had small children, he would have thought that getting them off to school would have made it impossible for her to arrive her before him. Trying not to be too obvious, he glanced about the room, looking for a sign that someone was watching them, waiting to catch them in the act of the exchange. Everyone seemed to be absorbed in reading, though. Still, Lucas knew they were here, somewhere, he could feel them. His professional instinct put him on high alert and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  The game he was playing had just turned infinitely more dangerous.

  Lucas also knew he could not leave Moscow without Katya’s information, but to make the exchange now would be foolhardy. Glaring at Katya as he approached, he dismissed the idea that she was unaware of the threat and tried to discern whether she was betraying him deliberately or being used against her will instead, but as she was a good asset he could not tell from her expression.

  He greeted her with a hug and kisses on each cheek, like an old friend or lover, to a stranger it would be hard to tell.

  “I did not expect to see you so early,” he told her as they embraced. “Do the children not have school today?”

  “They are at home,” she replied without missing a beat. “My uncle is with them. They have contracted some kind of illness. A parasite, the doctor says.”

  Lucas’s insides churned. _So the FSB bastards are forcing her to betray me by using her children to ensure her cooperation._

  He gestured her into a seat and leaned close when he sat down next to her.

  “You should have phoned and told me you couldn’t make it,” he said. “We could have met another time.” It was the kind of thing a friend or lover would say. It meant that if she had let him know she was under FSB scrutiny, he would have arranged another meeting place and time after things had cooled down.

  “I had to see you today, Jim,” she replied. “My husband knows and he’s ordered me to break it off. He’s waiting for me.”

  _Oh, bloody hell!_ This was even worse than he had thought. _The FSB isn’t just suspicious. They know what we’re doing._

  “I brought you this,” she rasped, holding out an envelope to him, “as a token of my love.”

  As he took the envelope and pocketed it, Katya began to weep, and Lucas was close enough to know that it was not an act. She was scared and remorseful. He took her hands in his own and felt a flash card drop into his palm.

  Lucas’s heart skipped a beat when he realized what was going on. The FSB had found her out and ordered her to make this meeting to catch him. They had planted false information and were watching now, even though Lucas had not spotted them yet. Furtively he scanned the room again. Was it the two young women, or had he misjudged the older man who now slouched in an armchair?

  His gaze drifted back to Katya. What a mother with two young children was doing playing spy games, Lucas did not know, but even under duress she had managed to smuggle the information out and forward it to him. She looked up at him and just for a split second he saw determination burn in the reddened, tear-filled eyes. He felt like a bloody idiot, but he knew what he had to do. In order to protect his asset and her children, he had to take all the risk on himself.

  Closing his hand around the flash card, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, “Do not forget me.”

  Then he got up and strode purposefully out of the reading room in order to draw the attention of whoever was observing them.

  It was his only option. Once he got out of the library he might have a chance to make it to the airport and out of the country before they could cut off that escape route. If he was forced to take another way he might have a major problem.

  For now he made it out of the reading room unscathed. None of the people from there followed him. The question remained. Where were the FSB officers?

  When he stepped between rows of shelves, someone was behind him. He sidestepped and backtracked on the other side of the shelf, which allowed him to get a glimpse at his pursuer.

  _Too easy._

  This was far from being over and Lucas knew it. His priority now, aside from getting out of Moscow, was to stash the flash card. He had to reach the pre-arranged dead drop to ensure that MI5 got the information, no matter what happened to him. To do that he had to get out of sight of whoever followed him. Having memorized a map of the library, Lucas knew where to go.

  Glancing furtively back he made sure that nobody was in sight and turned sharply right through a door to a staircase for employees. It was no coincidence that Lucas suggested the library for the meeting. In case he had to give up the information he would deposit it there. Another officer would come to retrieve it if he did not come home or make contact by the time he was due to report.

  _They think Katya only gave me the planted disc, assuming that I believe it to be the real information. Nobody will get the idea that the dead drop is here in the library._

  He ran up the stairs and was brought up short by a man on his way down who attacked him. Lucas parried the blow and punched the other’s Adam’s apple. Choking, the man collapsed and rolled down the steps to the next landing. Without sparing him another glance, Lucas continued upstairs.

  _All right. Out into the hall and to the history section._

  Unnoticed, Lucas entered the room and positioned the card inside a book in the non-circulating collection. Avoiding the CCTV he was in and out in the matter of a minute. Now all he had to do was to get home.

  _Bloody hell, first I need to get out of this library!_

  Leaving the building was easier said than done, though. He could not take the main entrance. That would be guarded by the FSB. The same applied to the other exits.

  _Unless…_

  Back on the ground floor Lucas carefully opened the door to the entrance hall. He did not see anyone who watched the door, but that did not mean that the FSB was not there. A handful of people moved in and out of the library. Not enough to give Lucas cover. He went back up to the first floor and took the corridor there to cross to the other side of the building. Once more he got down to the ground floor again to see if he could find a way out from there.

  This time he could identify one of the officers. He stood near the main entrance from where he would spot Lucas at once if he tried to use that exit.

  _I need something to even the odds._

  Spotting a big red button, an idea formed in his mind.

  _Okay… that might work._

  As soon as the other spy looked in the opposite direction, Lucas slipped out of the staircase and strode over to his target. With his elbow he smashed the glass and pressed the button. The fire alarms going off alarmed everyone. Librarians shouted at the visitors to remain calm and find the nearest exit. Lucas joined the next cluster of people that streamed by and drifted toward the main entrance. The FSB officer was still there and Lucas averted his gaze in order to blend into the crowd.

  “Von on!” someone shouted and two more men struggled against the throng.

  Just for a second, Lucas contemplated ignoring them and trying and get out together with the people around him, but seeing that at least one of the officers pointed at him he realized that they had clearly identified him. He had to find another way.

  Pivoting around he weaved in the opposite direction until he spotted two more sturdy men who were apparently searching for something.

  _Or someone._

  The throng that was supposed to serve as cover now became a hindrance. Struggling fiercely, Lucas blazed a trail sideways and soon found himself back in the staircase, frantically searching for a way to block the door. As he could not spot anything suitable he ran. Up the stairs again. Racking his mind about where to turn. Judging by the pounding sounds behind him, the FSB officers were right on his heels.

  Another door.

  Another corridor.

  Another room.

  Lucas tried to put as much distance between himself and the hostile spies as possible.

  _How on earth did they find out anyway? How did they learn about Katya?_

  Questions he could not find answers for now.

  _Run!_

  A quick glance over his shoulder told him that the men were still hot on his trail and Lucas felt increasingly cornered.

  _Bloody hell! Can’t I get out of sight for a moment?_

  Going to Moscow had seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove himself to Harry in order to get the promotion to Section Chief. Right now that idea backfired, though. All Lucas could do was keep running and trust his stamina and wit. As his feet pounded the floor, he tried to recall the map he had memorized.

  _Left!_

  Hiding somewhere was no option. They would just close the building and keep searching until they found him. Outrunning his pursuers seemed to be his only chance. At the next crossing, Lucas turned right and entered another big hall with rows of shelves.

  _A maze might be what I need._

  Inwardly he laughed bitterly at that thought. Chasing through the halls of the library he already felt like a lab rat in search for cheese.

  _I_ _f they catch me only God knows what they’ll do to me. I can’t let that happen._ _I won’t go down without a fight._

  Lucas darted into one of the aisles and glanced back. At the end of the shelf he sidestepped and waited, trying to breathe as silently as possible despite being out of breath. It took only a few seconds until he heard footsteps. Stepping back out, he brought up his right arm and the other man ran into the heel of his hand, knocking himself out.

  Lucas did not wait for the next one but vanished between the other shelves. Backtracking in another aisle, Lucas closed in on his next target. He came from behind and threw the man headfirst against a shelf board. When he struggled, Lucas delivered a fierce blow to the other’s solar plexus that winded the officer. His knee connected with a chin, and Lucas grabbed his head, twisting it with a distinct snap. As the man dropped to the floor, Lucas took his gun.

  _Two down. How many more?_

  Hearing someone shout, he ducked deeper into the shadows. One of the spies alerted his colleagues. They gathered in the middle aisle and Lucas decided that that was his opportunity to get out, stalking along on the other side of the shelf.

  “Derzhi! Davai! Davai!” one of them yelled just as Lucas passed the door.

  Lucas ran.

  Suddenly someone grabbed at his jacket. Where the man came from Lucas did not know. He had been sure that he had extended his lead. Wriggling out of the jacket, Lucas freed himself and chased down the hall…

  …and ran into a locked door.

  Lucas twisted around and darted along the way he came. Turning right he skidded to a halt once more. Ahead were two more men. Looking around he counted three.

  _Shit!_

  He was cornered. This seemed to be the crucial moment and Lucas did not intend to just wait and let them arrest him. Lifting the gun he fired at the lock and kicked the door open. It led into another staircase that he chased down.

  _Five on my heels and who knows how many more scattered throughout the library, searching for me. I have to get out! I have to get to the next exit!_

  His heart hammering in his chest, he kept running, the stairs seeming endless. On the ground floor he turned right and pushed through another door.

  _Run, just run!_

  Turning left he saw it, his way out. At the end of the corridor was an exit to the street. Once he was outside he had a better chance to escape.

  His heart almost stopped mid-beat when two FSB officers skidded to a halt between him and the door.

  _No!_

  Desperate now, Lucas shot at the Russians, killing one and bringing the other down. He was only thirty feet from the door. He was sure he could escape if he could just get out of the bloody library! He jumped over the dead officer and sailed about two yards before he smashed to the ground.

  _Damn!_

  Horrified Lucas felt a hand around his ankle and kicked at the wounded Russian who struggled to keep his hold on him. Feeling the grip release, Lucas scrambled to his feet and made three more yards before a blow against his back made him stumble.

  _Nooooooo!_

  Kicking at the man, Lucas tried to incapacitate him long enough for him to reach the door. A grunt and a curse from behind made him dart forward and had almost made it when a body crashed into his back, throwing him against the door. Ignoring the pain, Lucas twisted around and punched at the first thing that was in his way. He hit the other’s chin, throwing him back. Unfortunately the other officers caught up as well and charged at him. With a roar of rage Lucas lunged at the man on his left, trying to knock him out with the first blow. Alas he only hit the other’s parry. With a kick to the side, Lucas fended the second one off.

  _That won’t work!_

  Panic attempted to get a hold on him, but he forced it to the back of his mind. Fighting like hell, he tried to sell himself as dearly as he could, but even with his extensive close combat training it was an uneven battle against five equally trained FSB officers. A vicious blow to his right kidney made Lucas scream and his legs buckled. It turned the fight to the others’ favour. Two of them managed to grab his arms while the others beat him ruthlessly.

  “Vsyo!”

  Whoever the thundering voice belonged to, it made the men stop as ordered. Breathing hard, Lucas swayed on unsteady feet and might have slumped if the men had not held him upright. When he lifted his gaze he saw another man approach whom he did not recognize. Clad in an expensive designer suit and wearing fine leather shoes he apparently was a high ranking officer.

  _Bugger! I didn’t even make it out of the ruddy library!_ Lucas’s breathing still was erratic and his devastation did nothing to ease it. _It was **not** my intention to visit the Lubyanka on this trip._

  The man came even closer and eyed their captive intently.

  “Lucas North, I presume.”

_Shit! They know my name!_

  That he and Katya had been identified as spies was annoying, but realizing that his whole cover was blown filled Lucas with dread.

  “Welcome to Moscow! We will treat you to Russia’s hospitality. I am sure you will appreciate it.”

  _Scratch that, I’m terrifi…_

  A blow against the back of his head knocked Lucas out cold.

 

tbc…

 

von on! = there he is

derzhi! = catch him

vsyo! khvatit! = stop!


	2. Forecourt to hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it was the trigger for writing this story, I simply had to include one of the most impressive scenes Mr. Armitage has given to us in s7 ep3. I admire his professionalism that resulted in his gut wrenching portrayal of Lucas’s anguish surrounding the “Sugarhorse” scene. It’s not just a flashback, but whoever wants to skip it won’t miss anything plotwise.

  Panic.

  Pain.

  Cold.

  When an icy gush of water jerked Lucas back to consciousness, he felt disorientated. He gasped with shock and squirmed. His reflexive attempt to get away, though, was thwarted by rope and handcuffs holding him in place where he was tied to a chair.

  A groan escaped him.

  _Shit!_

  With his returning memory came the fear.

  _Katya!_

  Squinting against the bright light directed at him, Lucas tried to assess his surroundings. It was hard to see much and it did not really matter as all cells or interrogation rooms were alike in the end.

  Once they had woken him, they made him wait which was worse than beginning straight with the interrogations. This way he had time to think about what they might do to him, and Lucas had a vivid imagination.

  He was reasonably certain that he was at the FSB headquarters at Lubyanka Square. The prison there was infamous. Built in the late nineteenth century for an insurance agency, part of the then occupied building was turned into a prison in 1920. Ever since it had held well-known prisoners like Alexander Solzhenitsyn and many men and women whose names would never be known.

  _Like myself._

  Lucas shuddered.

  _Harry will get me out. He’ll arrange for my release. I just need to hold out until he can make a deal with the FSB._

  In his current position, though, his confidence felt somewhat forced. Lucas had no idea what awaited him. All he knew was that it would not be anything good.

  When finally someone came for him, Lucas could not say that he was surprised either when the elegant man whom he had seen at the library stepped forward.

  “Hello, Lucas,” he greeted in a conversational tone that belied his dangerousness.

  That was a mistake Lucas would not make: underestimating his interrogator. Nobody gained a high position inside the FSB by demonstrating a bleeding heart and lack of ruthlessness.

  As Lucas did not respond, the man came up beside him and took hold of his chin to tilt his head back.

  “Look at me,” he commanded when Lucas would not meet his gaze.

  Grudgingly, Lucas complied.

  “I have to admit that I was surprised, learning that a British spy was here in Moscow,” the man stated. “In times of peace that should not really be necessary, don’t you think?”

  “I would think so, yes,” Lucas replied, and feeling stubborn he added, “Though I have no idea what you’re talking about. My name’s James Phelps and I’m with Merrill Lynch International.”

  He expected to get the answer right across his face. The slap, though, did not come. Instead the man chuckled.

  “You have spirit, I give you that,” he praised, starting to walk around his captive. “Well, Harry Pearce would hardly send an idiot, now, would he?”

  _Certainly not._

  Goosebumps ran down Lucas’s spine as it dawned on him that the FSB was too well informed for him to talk himself out of this.

  “Aside from that…” the Russian said, “no banker would kill as efficiently as you did.” He paused, fixating his captive with a glare that made the spook’s hair stand on end. Calmly he went on, “Your name is Lucas North, by profession a spy for her Majesty’s Secret Service. You arrived with British Airways flight BA233 at half past three yesterday afternoon at Moscow Domodedowo.”

  Lucas did his best not to show his surprise. That the interrogator gave away that information so readily was disturbing to say the least, and Lucas felt a very real fear creep up inside of him.

  “We have a source, Lucas, a good source,” the man went on as if he was reading his captive’s thoughts. “We knew you were coming when you had not yet set foot in Heathrow.”

  The interrogator was right. Lucas was not an idiot. He knew exactly the implication of what he was told.

  _Someone sold me out?_

  With the realization came a sickening sensation that spread from his insides through Lucas’s whole body until it closed up his throat.

  _Who? Only a handful of people can have known about the operation. Harry, of course, Malcolm, and Tom… I can’t believe one of them would… Bloody hell!_

  His current situation suggested otherwise, though.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Lucas grunted.

  “I do not think that _I_ am the one who made the mistake,” the FSB officer stated and stepped up in front of Lucas again.

  “Where’s Katya?”

  “Oh, she is safe.”

  That could mean anything and renewed fear pierced Lucas. “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing,” the interrogator replied in a lilting tone that Lucas had already begun to associate with him. “You see, Katya is a good girl. She was just a little... misguided. She will be interrogated, sent to prison. I will recommend a lenient sentence because she helped us, and if she is well-behaved in prison, she will get out in time to see her children finish school.” The interrogator smiled jovially. “You, Lucas, are another matter entirely.”

  At that a lump formed in Lucas’s throat that he tried to swallow unsuccessfully.

  “You are a spy, Lucas. You know the dance.”

  “You can’t just hold me here!” Lucas snapped, straining against his ties.

  “No?”

  It was the simplicity in this single word that chased chills down Lucas’s spine. Despite his earlier claim he knew that people simply disappeared in the Russian prison system… he just never expected to be one of them.

  “We brought you in for questioning,” the man told him matter of factly. “How long that is going to take is entirely up to you.”

  _Questioning! That means that I won’t get to see a trial! They’ll just keep me!_ As Lucas did not intend to tell them anything, he guessed that his future was going to be rather bleak. _Hope Harry will get me out before I end up in Lefortovo._

  “See, Lucas, when Harry sent you to Moscow he knew about the possible consequences… and so did you. Now, we are going to talk and then we will decide. No?”

  “Isn’t it customary to introduce oneself first?” Lucas growled.

  His opposite chuckled.

  “Well, as we will be spending a lot of time together, I think it is only fair to answer your question. My name is Arkady Kachimov.” Leaning forward he once more tilted up Lucas’s head. “Now… do you not want to at least confirm your name? Lucas?”

  There was no sense in denial, actually, but Lucas did not offer confirmation either.

  “I see, you are very talkative,” Kachimov teased.

  “Well, that depends on the subject,” Lucas wryly replied. “Do you like to cook?”

  This time Kachimov downright laughed out loud.

  “I like your sense of humour, Lucas,” the FSB interrogator declared. “I appreciate a good meal, I really do, but I would rather like to talk about…” with his free hand he fumbled something out of his jacket pocket and held it into Lucas’s direct line of sight, “this.”

  It was the small envelope Katya had given to him at the library. _The fake disc. Why’s that interesting for you?_

  “C’mon, Lucas,” Kachimov prodded. “We know, Katya gave this disc to you. What were you going to do with it?”

  _You mean, you didn’t give it to her?_ Lucas was confused. Sure, a misunderstanding was always possible, but he did not think that that was the case here. What should he tell him?

  “Nothing,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Quirking one eyebrow, Kachimov smirked evilly. “You are risking your life for a whole lot of nothing?” he challenged. “You are a bad liar.”

  _You think?_

  “You really do not want to tell me?” Kachimov kept insisting.

  Lucas shook his head.

  “Well,” Kachimov drawled in his characteristic lilt, “you should know that I am a patient man, Lucas. I am not so sure about Captain  Kuznetsov, though.”

  Letting go of Lucas’s chin, he turned to leave.

  The interrogator Kachimov had mentioned did not come right away. Lucas waited for several minutes before a figure appeared beyond the spotlights. Squinting against the brightness, Lucas did not see much of the other interrogator before his chin was hit by a punch that threw his head around. He grunted with pain and had to fight dizziness. The captain did not hesitate to beat him again and Lucas’s world dissolved in agony. 

 

xXx

 

  A couple of days that felt like weeks later, Lucas would have happily embraced death if the Russians would have let him. He seriously could not tell how much time had passed and he did not know if he could believe his captors when they said that it was seventeen days either. By now the pain was a constant companion that refused to go away even when he was not mistreated.  Lucas did not want to think about what they did to him and it would probably be easier to count what they did _not_ do.

  Once it had been so bad that he woke in a hospital bed, restrained by leather manacles on wrists and ankles. Even then Kachimov came to talk with him. It had been a rather one-sided conversation as long as the interrogator expected information about MI-5, but at some point, Kachimov had switched the subject and they had actually talked about cooking. From there they came to sport as well as politics. That was when Lucas became wary. Kachimov had quit then and allowed his captive to rest, but when Lucas woke the next time, the interrogator was already back by his side… or had not even left, he could not tell.

  For approximately two days now, Lucas sat in an interrogation room. They hardly granted him any sleep, and even that, he took sitting up in his chair. He had only been permitted to leave his seat a few times to use the toilet or to stand up and sit back in it after one of his interrogators had knocked him out of it. His neck and back and ribs ached, his bum and legs, even his ankles and feet, which had swollen inside his shoes from the lack of mobility and the force of gravity. For the past several hours, he had been suffering intermittent muscle cramps from the strain of just sitting still for so long. He estimated that it was an hour, maybe less, between the sessions that were always led by another interrogator, four so far. Curiously, Kachimov was not among them. Actually, he had not seen him for days, and Lucas wondered why he was not present if he clearly was the head of the operation.

  Lucas sat with his head resting on his arms on the tabletop. How long was the interrogator gone now? He had no idea. He was dead beat, though, yet too agitated and in pain to fall asleep immediately. When the door opened, he did not waste the energy to lift his head, assuming that the next interrogator would sit down on the opposite side of the table. Instead guards grabbed his arms and jerked him up from his seat.

  _Shit!_

  As much as he ached from sitting still, he could not quite stifle the cry of pain caused by being forced to move so suddenly.

  They dragged him out of the room and down the hall to another cell that seemed completely bare. On second sight, Lucas discovered more details, but seeing the wooden pallet on the floor, he planted his feet. Panic hit him full force as he recognized the setting from the training he had received, and though he did not realize it until later, the fear at least drove the pain from the forefront of his mind for a little while. Back then he had been treated to another form of torture, which he was grateful for as he considered the board to be especially horrible. Being confronted with it now a strangled cry escaped him as he tried to break free, but he was no match for the guards in his weakened state. Despite his comparatively fierce struggles they forced him down, coming to lie on his back, and strapped him to the pallet.

  In vain, Lucas strained against the leather that was strapped across his ankles, thighs, waist, and chest. More straps tied his hands to the wooden boards. The foot end of the pallet was elevated which made Lucas’s position uncomfortable already. Knowing about the agony that was about to come did not make the situation any better. It was cold here in addition. With only a pair of track pants on, Lucas began to shiver and knew that it would become worse once the water came.

  Movement beside him caught his attention. The interrogator who towered over him now was female. Lucas recalled seeing her before. During one of the questionings she stood in the shadows of the room and watched. Now Lucas could see her narrow face that was even more elongated by her hair being tied in a tight bun at the top of her head. Maybe that was why he had estimated her to be middle-aged before which was not accurate. Still, her young features did not want to match her stern attire. Out of blue eyes she stared down at him along her long nose. Coldly, indifferently, and Lucas knew without a doubt that he had to expect anything but mercy from her.

  She lit a cigarette and took a deep draw. It was a peculiar sight how she folded her left arm under her breasts to put her right elbow onto her hand, holding out the hand with the fag in a perverted ladylike fashion. Looking down at her captive with disdain, she exhaled through pursed lips. The anthracite jacket over a black, round-necked shirt made her look like a governess.

  _Or a dominatrix. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a riding crop instead of the cigarette._

  “Rasshazhite mnyeh o tvoiyeh syeti v Moskvye,” she snidely said.

  “There is no network,” Lucas told her firmly.

  “Kto chlyen syeti?” she insisted and glanced aside.

  Any answer caught in his corded up throat, so Lucas shook his head. Rolling his eyes, he tried to follow the movements of the two guards who still were in the room with them. While one fumbled about with a cloth the other held a big plastic bottle. In theory, Lucas knew only too well what those were meant for and dreaded that those one and a half litres of water that the bottle held would feel like being engulfed by a flash flood.

  “Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse,” the interrogator demanded.

  _Sugarhorse?_ Lucas almost blurted out loud with confusion.

  Leaning down to him she blew smoke into his face and demanded again, “Tell me about Sugarhorse.”

  When Lucas did not answer, she nodded at her helper. Lucas saw him close in with trepidation. The cloth that was put over his face was wet now and the sensation of his breathing being impaired instantaneously put him on alert. He tried to hold his breath for a while, but then he had to exhale… and inhale in turn. The inhalation brought the damp cloth tight against his nostrils which scared the crap out of him. Being unable to suppress it, a strangled cry escaped him which resulted in drawing in water from the cloth into his mouth. He felt how more water was poured down on him. It invaded his mouth and nostrils at once and his gag reflex set in.

  More water poured down, though, and renewed panic set in at the terrifying sensation of water flooding down the larynx and trachea as he struggled to breathe. Everything he had heard about this form of intensive interrogation paled in comparison with the real experience. Every cell in Lucas’s body just wanted to draw breath, regardless of the fact that there was no air but water. His head seemed to burst and violent coughs shook his body, throwing it into his bonds but only resulting in drawing more water.

  _I’m dying!_

  His chest, his lungs, his throat, his head… everything hurt when Lucas started vomiting and his head was released to allow him to throw up. Water sprayed everywhere, got into his eyes and ran out of his nose. Colourful spots danced before his eyes and he gasped painfully for breath.

  “Shto takoiye Sugarhorse?” the governess from hell repeated her question.

  Coughing was sheer agony and Lucas was hardly able to grasp a clear thought. _Hell, what’s Sugarhorse?_ He still was as clueless as before.

  “Kto otvyechaiyet za Sugarhorse?”

  “I… don’t know,” Lucas rasped hoarsely.

  “Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse!” the interrogator insisted mercilessly with a nod sideways.

  A cry of wordless terror tore off Lucas’s lips as he saw the bottle above him, water swashing out and splashing onto his face. Turning his head, he managed to avoid it getting into his nose, but it sprayed into his eyes that started to tear up. Blinking, Lucas tried to soothe the burning sensation. He wished he could reach up to brush the water away, but his wrists were tightly bound to the pallet with leather straps. His joints already hurt from his struggles.

  “Stop! Just stop it!” he spluttered against the pouring and blew his nose in an attempt to clear his air passages.

  “Ladno, nu skazhi!”

  “I can’t…” he started to beg when another gush of water poured onto his face, running into his open mouth and his nostrils. Struggling against his ties, Lucas tried to lift his head, desperate to avoid the liquid entering his system. His chest hurt as his lungs were invaded which triggered laryngospasm. With his throat sealed against further intrusion, he could not even gasp for breath for a moment. Once more he had to throw up. His first breath then exploded in his chest. Barely conscious he anxiously fought to finish his sentence between coughing, “…tell you… what… I don’t know!”

  _I wish I knew! Really!_ By now he was ready to tell her anything she wanted, but she just kept asking about the mysterious _Sugarhorse_. Lucas could only assume that it was the codename for an operation. An operation he was not privy to.

  “Tell me about Sugarhorse.”

  Lucas’s answer was rather garbled as he choked it out with breaking voice between desperate gasps for breath, “I… don’t know… what… Sugarhorse is!”

  Unperturbed the interrogator went on, “What is Sugarhorse?”

  A whimper escaped Lucas as he watched the guards prepare their next assault. “I don’t know,” he pleaded, “I swear! Please, stop!”

  As this remained his sole reply the interrogator signalled the guards to go ahead.

  Fear robbed Lucas of his breath even before the cloth was tightly held over his mouth and nostrils again. His throat threatened to close as he forced himself not to try and breathe which was futile. The water running down on the cloth first cut off any way of air supply and then filled his head and throat. Squirming in his bonds, Lucas prayed for it to stop.

  _No more! Please…!_

  His pleas remained unheard.

  The accumulation of carbon dioxide finally forced respiration. Inhaling water, Lucas panicked. Fiery spears shot through his system. His muscles cramped. His body convulsed, rearing in the restraints. Gulping and coughing could not clear his respiratory tract. Spasms shook him uncontrollably. Colourful dots danced before his eyes. His body was shutting down and Lucas went into the darkness with the conviction that he was not coming back.

 

tbc…

 

 

Rasshazhite mnyeh o tvoiyeh syeti v Moskvye, = Tell me about your network of assets in Moscow

Kto chlyen syeti? = Who belongs to your network?

Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse, = Tell me about Sugarhorse

Shto takoiye Sugarhorse? =What is Sugarhorse

Kto otvyechaiyet za Sugarhorse? = Who set up Sugarhorse

Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse! = Tell me about Sugarhorse

  “Ladno, nu skazhi! = Then tell me about Sugarhorse!”


	3. Stages of squalor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your feedback. It really means a lot to me as this was really hard to write. It’s rewarding to know I could master the difficult subject. I hope that I could keep it up and that you will - well, enjoy probably is the wrong word there - continue to value my story. Thanks for the kudos, too!

**Lubyanka**

**Moscow headquarters of the FSB**

 

  Lucas awoke to the unpleasant sensation of something being inside his nose. He was barely conscious enough to realize that it was a thin tube that helped him breathe, supplying him with oxygen. The regular beeps of the machine monitoring his vitals did not register in his mind. A moment later he drifted back into darkness.

 

xXx

 

  Only slowly the darkness receded. At first Lucas wondered if he actually was awake, but then he realized that the room was rather dark. There was a tiny lamp that offered just enough light to see the shapes of bed and nightstand as well as the machine that still monitored him. Scarce moonlight filtered through the small window to his right.

  _Where am I?_

  Lucas was too exhausted to think about that question properly. His memories also were rather sketchy and he felt sore all over his body and soul. The door opened and a woman looked in. Seeing him awake she ventured inside. When she stepped up beside the bed she checked on his vitals.

  “It’s good to see you awake,” she said. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  _Oh, really?_

  “Where am I?” Lucas asked and was horrified by how hoarse he sounded.

  “Med ward,” she replied curtly. “How’s your throat?”

  “Raw,” he croaked.

  “Anything else that hurts?”

  Lucas was not sure he knew what she meant as he could not tell where one pain ended and the other started. It would be easier to answer where he did _not_ hurt.

  “My chest,” he rasped. “Trouble… breathing.”

  “Well, the oxygen should help with that,” she murmured and checked on the thin tube that still was in his nose. “The doctor said you’re doing fine now, so don’t worry. Rest. I’ll be back in the morning.” She adjusted something on the drip and left the room.

  _Why do I need oxygen?_

  With the question came his memories and his whole body tensed up while the beeping of the machine accelerated with his pulse. Taking a shuddering breath reminded Lucas that he was not able to breathe at all not so long ago. Coughing set his chest on fire and slowly it dawned on him what had happened.

  _Something must have gone wrong. They had to revive me! My ribs might be cracked!_

  Fresh anxiety filled him with that realization. He knew that the technique was not a simulation. The subject, in this case him, was drowning. When done right it was controlled death that could be repeated all over again and again, but it could also go horribly wrong, resulting in terminal hypoxia.

  _Shit! They did it once! They’ll do it again!_

  A renewed surge of panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he felt too exhausted for it to take hold and he readily gave in to med induced sleep again.

 

xXx

 

  As Lucas’s recovery proceeded, Kachimov came to visit him again. The spook did not intend on answering any of his questions, but he soon figured out that the man was good company. Kachimov was willing to engage in conversation rather than conducting an interrogation that was bound to become rather one-sided. Still Lucas had to be careful, no matter what they were talking about. The colonel, as he had learned, liked to shoot all kinds of questions out of the blue or hide them inside casual discussions. He was a good strategist and Lucas wondered if he played chess. Unfortunately he got no opportunity to confirm his speculation as he soon was well enough to be transferred and taken to another prison.

 

xXx

 

**Lefortovo prison**

**1999**

 

  At Lefortovo Lucas found himself in just another solitary cell. It was barely four by four paces big and had a wooden frame as a cot, as well as metal fixtures. That was it. Its bare walls were oppressive and Lucas fought against depression during his first days in his new _accommodation_.

  Lucas still got no sign of Harry working on his release. If the excessive torture he had been subjected to was any indication, he guessed that the Russians tried to force as much intel out of him as they could before they had to give him up. That he now was housed at the equally notorious Lefortovo prison, though, made Lucas doubt for the first time that he would be released any time soon. Compared to the Lubyanka, little was known about Lefortovo. Rumours were all he ever heard about the prison and he imploringly hoped that he would not end up in the giant meat grinder that was said to be installed in the courtyard to dispose of the unfortunate souls who did not survive _questioning_.

  So far he had not been taken to interrogation again, but Lucas knew that was only a matter of time. His respite would be brief enough as it was.

  He could tell already that the regime at Lefortovo was rather strict. No unnecessary word was spoken by the guards and, curiously, there was no rope telegraph or anything comparable that prisoners used to exchange messages or small packages of tea or tobacco.

_I wonder where Kachimov is. Maybe he doesn’t have any questions anymore._

  Of course he knew that that was highly unlikely. The only thing that would keep his interrogator away was death… Lucas’s or his own.

  _I have no reason to think about death yet,_ Lucas told himself. _Harry is working hard on making that deal, I’m sure of that. And the Russians brought me back once. They don’t want me dead. Once I’m dead there’s no chance left to pry information from me. Maybe they even speculate about turning me. Ridiculous!_

  Even though he was a hundred per cent convinced that he would remain adamant and stay loyal to his country, Lucas could not take into consideration all eventualities. The Russians were inventive. Who knew what they would come up with next?

 Hearing the door to his cell being unlocked, Lucas stood from the cot. A guard gestured him to come out and follow him. As Lucas expected to be taken to the next interview, he used the walk to think about what he would tell them this time and what his strategy would be.

  While the guard escorted him, he used a tiny clacker to give sound signals. Lucas wondered what that habit was about until he heard another signal and was shoved to one of many black wooden cabinets that stood along the prison passages. Pushing insistently, the guard manoeuvred the inmate into the box and told him not to move.

  Stunned and curious, Lucas stood, facing the wall, inside the cabinet and saw nothing at all while he heard footsteps of two other persons who passed their position. Once the steps had faded away, the guard ordered him to step out again and they continued on their way. They took a lift and moved upwards. When they stepped out, they entered another short corridor from where they moved into an exercise yard.

  Surprised, Lucas raised his gaze to the cloud-covered sky. It was cold outside and even between the high walls of the enclosure his hair was ruffled by a strong breeze. His guard told him that he could walk around for about half an hour, but Lucas did not feel compelled to do that. Tilting his head back he watched the clouds roam across the sky. A flock of birds passed by but they were too high for Lucas to recognize them.

  The sight made his guts churn. His longing for freedom was still uncurbed and suddenly he felt the need to run. He twitched but stopped himself. He did not know if running would be allowed. Sure, it would be hard in the confines of the exercise square, but he would prefer it over strolling listlessly around the court.

  Turning to the guard he tried to pique his attention. As he could not trigger a reaction and did not want to address him as he was not sure if that was allowed either, Lucas started with a lazy jog around the court, picking up speed with every round he made. The guard was watching but did not stop him. Encouraged, Lucas sped up again until he could not run faster inside the stone walls. Bouncing against the bricks he stopped, panting, and looked up at the sky again. The sun peeked through a hole in the clouds.

  _How much time will they grant me?_

  Once more he began to jog around the square. It felt good to use his muscles for what they were meant to do. Move. Lucas could feel the energy return that the oppressive walls of Lefortovo had drained from him. Breathing. Running. Lucas loved it. He was so concentrated on his body that he made the mistake to ignore the guard.

  A mistake that he sorely regretted when he smashed on the floor.

  “Watch your step!” the guard teased.

  _Funny._

  Lucas did not even spare him a glance, knowing that all he would see was a satisfied sneer on the burly man’s face. Strong but out of shape, his questionable success of tripping his captive likely was all he could achieve.

  “Time to go,” the guard said firmly.

  Taking a last deep, conscious breath, Lucas followed the man back to the lift. On their way to his cell they closed in on two other inmates and both times Lucas was forced to stand in one of the cabinets. It was a peculiar feeling to be cut off from possible social intercourse, no matter how brief it could be in passing. Lucas could not even catch a glimpse at the other prisoners and was pretty certain that they would not get a look at him either.

  Soon Lucas was locked up in his cell again. About an hour later another man came with food. It was only a small portion and bland, but it made do. There was still no sign that he would be taken to another interrogation. When finally the lights went out, Lucas settled down on the wooden cot to sleep.

 

 

**Lefortovo prison**

**1999**

 

  If anyone would have asked Lucas before his trip to Moscow if sitting in a bare room could be torture, he would have decisively said _no_.

  Now he knew better.

  It was not the fact that the room was small.

  It was not that he was on his own, even though he might admit that it took part in wearing him down.

  It was not that it was cold, though that was pretty uncomfortable as well.

  No.

  It was the lack of definition.

  The room Lucas currently sat in, stark naked and shivering, was painted black. The floor, the concrete walls, the ceiling, the door… everything was black. Everything except the single light bulb in its wired cage was dark as the night which began to tear on the inmate’s nerves sooner rather than later.

  All Lucas could clearly make out now was his own body. His fair skin stood in stark contrast to the colour of the room and appeared to be even paler than he really was.

  The spook caught himself watching his fingers move in a random pattern. In his black prison he found no other point of reference. In the beginning he had been able to see the edge of floor meeting the bottom of the wall and where the corners were. The longer he sat in this hole, though, the more the contours blurred.

  _It’s like being buried alive,_ Lucas thought. Yet he knew that the comparison paled. If he was buried in a cave or a cellar there would be no light. It was that single light that shone mercilessly for as long as he was locked up here now that made the difference.

  _Even the door blends in almost seamlessly._

  Lucas had patted it up and down. As it opened to the outside it fit smoothly into the frame and he could find no hinges. It was just a plain steel panel that did not look any different from the bare concrete.

  _You ruddy bastards! Let me out!_

  Lucas was about to scream it but bit his tongue. He was not ready to admit defeat.

  _Harry! Why don’t you help me? You need to get me out of here! Don’t abandon me in this horrible place! Nobody’s showing any mercy! Help me, Harry!_

  Pulling his knees up to his chest, Lucas wrapped his arms around his legs. Hugging himself like that he gently rocked to and fro, humming the first melody that came to his mind.

  _What is it anyway? I can’t recall the title. It’s from Sting, I think._

  He tried to recall the lyrics and failed. Frustration quickly turned into anxiety. Humming became increasingly difficult when his breathing became strained. Then it quickened. A shudder coursed through Lucas’s body.

  _Blake. Just grab a poem and focus._

  As if on auto pilot, Lucas began to recite _Proverbs of Hell_. First only his lips moved, but then he spoke aloud… until he had to pause because the words did not come. He racked his mind. The words were there, he knew they were. Still he could not grasp them. Once more his laboured breathing gave away his unease.

  _Scratch unease!_

  His stomach clenched with a gnawing fear.

_How long now? Did they forget I’m in here?_

  Trying to pace led him straight into the wall. The room was hardly big enough for him to stretch out when he lay down. Striding out was next to impossible. Pivoting, Lucas started with small steps, his right hand brushing along the wall. Five times he passed a corner before he felt disorientated. The lack of definition made him nauseous and the blackness of his surroundings fuelled depression. Groaning, Lucas changed his direction.

  First corner.

  Second corner.

  Third corner.

  Fourth corner.

  Fifth corner.

  Sixth corner.

  Lucas began to feel lightheaded.

  _I could use my faeces to mark the corners._

  Disgust made his insides churn.

  _Hopefully they’ll let me out before I seriously consider it._

  Resuming walking at a slower pace, Lucas did his best to loosen up his sore muscles as well as fight his depression. He could not even find the smallest grooves in the concrete. In his regular cell the unevenness of the wall was clearly visible. Here nothing distracted his sight.

  Caving to a sudden rush of anxiety, Lucas threw himself at the door and pounded his fists against the metal, howling, “Let me ooooouuuuuuuut!”

  No reaction was forthcoming.

  A few more times, Lucas hit the door before he stopped due to the agony in his hands. With a sob he tumbled back to one of the corners and slid down the wall. Sitting on the cold concrete floor he wrapped his arms around his legs again. Hugging himself tighter, Lucas tried to refocus on his poetry, which was a real effort that resulted in his gut wrenching even more and silent tears running down his stubbled cheeks.

 

xXx

 

  Driven by sheer fear and desperation, Lucas ran down the service tunnel. By a hair’s breadth he had avoided being seen by the guards, at least he thought he did. It could be, though, that his absence was noticed already. Or that they found the unconscious man who had been supposed to take him back to his cell.

  Too much time had passed. Too much time without any sign of Harry trying to get him back. Lucas just was slowly wasting away in prison and he had had enough of it.

  Running gave him some sort of purpose. Now he just had to find a way out, which was easier said than done. Of course he had tried to find out as much about the prison as possible, but the bitter truth was that he had acted out of opportunity rather than on the basis of a good plan.

  Now that came back to haunt him.

  He was in a part of the prison where he definitely was _not_ supposed to be. As a result Lucas had no idea where he was or where he had to go. The tunnel had to lead somewhere and he would decide what to do when he got there.

  Of course trying to escape was a risk. If he was caught he would surely get executed. As it was, though, he felt that was better than living in this hell.

  _I can’t tell what was worse, the physical torture at the Lubyanka or what they did here. The black cell was horrible, but so was being stuck in that tiny hole with nowhere to escape the noises._

  His mind took him back to the cell that was even smaller than the black room. Lucas became claustrophobic the second they pushed him inside. It reminded him more of a coffin than a room, actually, and his breathing accelerated when the door locked behind him. He had barely time to adjust before the noise started. It was like the roar of powerful engines, like a plane taking off right next to him and it did not stop. It did not take long for Lucas to start screaming and hammering against the door, but the noise was overpowering his attempts to make himself heard and when they finally released him, he collapsed in a sobbing wreck on the floor.

  _And Harry’s doing nothing to stop it._ Lucas panted with his run. He stopped at a crossing, frantically scanning the corridors and trying to decide in which direction to go. _I don’t know how long I’ve been here already, but it must be months. What has Harry done in all that time? Some sort of reaction should have come from the Russians, but there was nothing. Is Kachimov right? Did Harry first sell me out and then abandon me? If he won’t help me, I’ve got to help myself._

  Picking a tunnel, Lucas hoped that he chose right. He had not gone far, though, when he heard the thudding of several pairs of shoes from ahead. Throwing himself around he ran as fast as he could in order to get out of sight. Unfortunately another three guards just rounded the corner he had last passed.

  _Shit!_

  Directing their weapons at the fugitive, the men ordered him to stop. Lucas skidded to a halt and looked both ways in search for the weakest link. There was none. Each of them carried at least a handgun and two of them a Sten gun. All weapons were directed at him.

  Feeling his heart sink, Lucas assessed the situation. Fighting would result in his death. Surprisingly he did not consider that an option anymore. He wanted to survive and he would find another way to get out of here.

  Raising his hands above his head, Lucas surrendered. With fast steps the men caught up to him and grabbed his arms. A kick in the hollows of his knees made him cry out and stagger. A brutal blow with the butt of a gun between his shoulder blades stunned him. Unable to defend himself he had to endure that they shackled his wrists behind his back. Then they beat the living hell out of him before they dragged him back to his cell.

 

tbc…


	4. Out in the sticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from the Sugarhorse bit, I was most intrigued about how Lucas got his tattoos and why as his statement from episode one “you don’t have them, you don’t belong…” does not seem to fit with what I believe to remember about him having been in solitary most of his imprisonment. The latter applies at least to the four years spent in Lushanka and if he was in solitary, why should he get tattoos as he never was part of the prison community? This chapter begins my exploration of how all that played out…

**Labour camp**

**1999**

 

_Punishment?_

  Lucas actually had to bite back a smirk. He had been told that his transfer was a punishment for his escape attempt. When he climbed down from the back of the truck, though, and breathed in the fresh air, he could have danced with joy. Since going to the library on that fateful August morning all he ever saw of the sky was a small patch, squared off by the high walls surrounding the exercise yard on the rooftop of Lefortovo prison.

  Now he stood in a big courtyard, surrounded by barracks. Only when he was pushed forward and made the first steps, Lucas actually realized how cold it was outside and that he stepped into snow.

_Still winter. I thought that more time had passed._

  As time had seemed to drag on between interrogations and the torture sessions had often left him disorientated, Lucas could not be sure how long it had been since he was captured. At first he had had a window in his cell, but after one of the sessions they took him to an isolation cell.

  No window.

  No contact.

  No way to keep track of the days.

  No walks up to the rooftop either.

  It was kind of pathetic, really, but that was what Lucas missed most. For about half an hour he had breathed fresh air and seen a square of sky. Inside the walls of the prison everything remained the same.

  The sounds.

  The taste.

  The temperature.

  Now the trip out to this camp and the walk to his new prison already provided Lucas with a plethora of impressions that he needed to digest.

  The guards led him into the nearest barrack and to a room at the head of the building. A stout and bald man sat behind a simple desk. He looked up at the prisoner and stood to walk around the table and pick up a bundle from a chair near the wall.

  “So, you’re the new addition,” he snarled as he looked Lucas up and down and pushed the bundle in his arms. “You’ll learn the rules fast. Work hard and don’t get yourself into trouble. Then you’ll survive here.”

_Sounds cheery._

  Lucas was not sure what he had to expect when he followed the guard down the hall along the barred cells. Even though nobody was in there right now the place already made Lucas uncomfortable. For some reason he felt hemmed in. They stopped at the last cell in the row and a guard opened the door. Lucas stepped inside and the bars closed behind him with a metallic clonk.

  He looked at the scarce furnishing. There was a broad wooden platform along the long wall on the left side of the cell, covered with woollen blankets. It looked like a bigger version of the cot in his cell at Lefortovo and Lucas easily guessed that all inhabitants of the cell shared it for the night. On the right side were a metal toilet and a washing bowl as well as a shelf with several boxes. Above it a number of nails served as hooks.

  Somehow Lucas doubted that he would be alone in this cell.

_Finally some company._

  The walls were a filthy grey, and there was a large stain near the toilet that might be blood spatter or other bodily fluids. Upon closer inspection, he was fairly certain it was blood, and his imagination was flooded with images of men getting their throats slit while shaving or having their heads bashed in during a fight over whose turn it was to take a shit.

  _I'm going to have to watch my back._

  Of course it would not be easy, Lucas knew as much. Prisons had their own society, their own hierarchy. Being part of the population now, Lucas had to find his place as soon as possible.

_And as high as possible. Otherwise this will turn out even worse than Lefortovo._

  Sitting down on the cot he put the bundle down beside him.

_Now what have we got here?_

 

xXx

 

  With the early sunset it began to snow again. Lucas stood at the barred window and watched the flakes fall. _Winter in Russia. That’s not exactly what I had planned for my near future._ He did better not think about how the weather might be in London right now. Imagining his home nearly broke his heart.

  _Vyetochka._

  Thinking of his wife made his insides constrict. The snow reminded him of a walk in Hyde Park. It had been the Christmas season and they enjoyed an afternoon in town, going shopping, having cake and tea, strolling through the park. Seeing some children playing nearby, mischief had overwhelmed Lucas and he scooped up some snow to throw it at Elizavieta. She shrieked with shock, but a second later she bent down to retaliate his attack. Balls went flying in both directions until she closed in on him, jumping up to catch him and wash his face with a handful of snow. His attempt to avoid her had been half-hearted, actually. He grabbed her to take revenge, but they slipped and fell into the soft snow, laughing. Elizavieta even threw herself back and made a snow angel.

  Her laughter echoing in his mind, made his fate even harder to bear.

  A sigh escaped Lucas and he strolled back to the wooden bedding. Even though he had not been forced to work yet he was tired to the bones. Still he knew that he had to be alert. The prison’s community would not forgive any mistakes on his part.

  As soon as he heard voices and steps, Lucas got up from the long cot, as he did not want to step on anyone’s toes as soon as they met. Avoiding that appeared to be essential for him.

  Right then nobody came, though. Nobody except a guard who opened the cell and told Lucas to follow him. He was led to another barrack that turned out to be the dining-hall. When they entered, it did not take long until he was noticed. One after the other the inmates turned to him, which made Lucas feel like he was the new boy in class, up for inspection. Only that this was far more dangerous.

  The warden stepped up in front of the gathered inmates.

  “This is Lucas,” he stated. “Think twice about how you treat him, _tovarischi_ , the FSB expects to get him back in one piece.”

_Oh, great! Why don’t you just call me a rat?_

  A lump formed in Lucas’s throat at seeing many of the curious looks become hostile.

_Yes, I’m a British spy, and the warden just painted crosshairs on my chest._

  The warden nodded at the guard beside Lucas, who took the spook by the arm and led him to one of the long tables.

  “Say hello to your new flat mate,” the guard told the men who were seated there.

  None of them reacted.

  “Move over!” the guard commanded, gesturing at the men on the right bench.

  Unwillingly they made space for the newcomer and the guard shoved Lucas down on the bench.

  “Behave!” he commanded without making clear if he meant the group or Lucas, before he stepped back.

  Lucas sat with his new best friends and wished for the ground to open and swallow him. They all stared at him, assessing him as he did them. He got the vibe that the man directly across from him was the leader of this group, the boss in the cell they were going to share. The others certainly had a rank of their own, but just by looking at them those were hard to determine. What Lucas had to avoid at all costs, though, was to become the end of the food-chain like he believed one man at a table to his right to be.

_Talking about food… could someone please tell me about the customs at mealtimes?_

  The gaze of his opposite bore into Lucas and he decided to stare back. Even sitting down it was obvious that the man was tall and muscular. Lucas caught himself thinking about how he could take him out if need be.

  “You’re not Russian, right?” the man stated and Lucas nodded once in affirmation. “Are you a spy?”

  Snorting, as if the idea was ridiculous, Lucas replied, “Are you a comedian? Because really, that’s a terrible joke.”

  Lucas was glad that his voice did not betray his nervousness. One wrong word or look could get him into serious trouble. No matter how much training he had received and how often he had been out in the field… right now Lucas felt like a bloody junior officer on his first day, young and inexperienced. He hated it.

  “Where are you from?” the guy beside him asked and earned a death glare for speaking up.

  “Tell,” Lucas’s opposite commanded and he complied.

  “Great Britain.”

  The man scowled. “MI5?”

  There was no way he would admit to it, so Lucas vigorously shook his head.

  “That’s what the FSB seems to believe,” he said, doing his best to sound offended.

  The men laughed and one spoke up, “Yeah, sure. We’re all innocent, you know,” which earned him more laughter.

  “I’m Yuri,” the cell leader told Lucas and expectantly looked to the short side of the barrack. “You’ll come with me. Speak with nobody. Don’t even look at them. We’ll have dinner…”

  Once more Lucas nodded. With dread he sensed that more was to come.

  “…and when we’re back in our cell, we’ll talk.”

  Yuri smirked devilishly and got up. Taking Lucas’s arm, he commanded, “Come.”

  Standing, Lucas realized that Yuri was even taller than he was himself. Almost a head taller to be exact. Walking along with him to the counter, Lucas wondered if he already made a mistake by going with him. Judging by the hostile stares that followed him, though, he imagined that it was safer to stay near Yuri for the time being. When it was his turn to be served, the man behind the counter tried to wave him through, but Yuri snapped at him and Lucas got his share of the meal.

  Back at the table they ate in silence. Lucas was surprised by the amount of food they were given.

_These men have to do hard labour, though. I could imagine that it still isn't enough to make up for the calories they burn._

  A lump formed in his throat and he gulped the next bite down.

_And I'm one of them now. Don't know yet what we have to do here, though._

  Lucas finished his meal and when the men stood to return to their respective cells he went with them.

  The guard who locked the door was hardly out of sight when the men turned on Lucas. Before he even knew it, two of them had grabbed his arms and pinned him against the wall. While the others gathered in the front of the cell, blocking against views from the corridor, Yuri stepped up in front of Lucas.

  “Well, now let’s talk,” he snarled, thumping his captive’s chest with his fingertips. It did not look as if there was a lot of force behind it, but it still hurt and Lucas was sure that he would get a bruise there. “Who are you really?”

  “Really?” Lucas chuckled nervously. It was not an act, but as he thought that some nervousness had to be expected in a situation like this, he did not mind showing it. “And why would you believe me when the FSB doesn’t?”

  “Well, for starters, we’re no spies, _golubchik_ ,” Yuri teased, patting Lucas’s cheek. “We’re hardened men who don’t like to be played.”

  Inwardly Lucas cringed at being called _golubchik_ , which was the diminutive of pigeon. If these men believed him to be just a pretty face, unable to stand up for himself, he would have to teach them differently.

  “I’m not trying to play anybody,” Lucas assured him. “If they took the piss out of anyone here, it’s me. I’m a banker with Merrill Lynch International. Heck, the FSB doesn’t even believe my name’s not Lucas North!”

  “Oh, brilliant!” Yuri mocked, eyeing the young spy appreciatively. “What is it then?”

  “James Phelps,” Lucas offered him his alias.

  Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by the men erupting in laughter. Stunned, Lucas tried to figure out, what he had said that was so funny. His shoulders even hurt from his arms being jarred when the men about doubled over, and he tried to break out of their hold without success.

  “My name’s Phelps,” Yuri chortled between fits of laughter, “James Phelps.”

  “No wonder they think he’s a spy!” another man chimed in.

  “Welcome to paradise, Double-O-Seven!” a third man cheered.

  Lucas had noticed him before. He usually hovered in Yuri’s vicinity, which made Lucas wonder whether he was under his protection or probably his right-hand man.

  “Wouldn’t that be a nice nickname for him?” just another voice mingled in. “Double-O-Seven?”

  “Oh, please. Don’t!” Lucas groaned reflexively, only to realize at the same time as the words came over his lips, that that might only egg them on. “You know what? Call me James, Jim, or even Lucas. I don’t mind.”

  “I kinda like Double-O-Seven,” Yuri snickered. Once more he laughed and gestured at the men holding Lucas to release him. “I like you, James,” Yuri declared with a slap on Lucas’s shoulder that jarred the spook’s whole frame. His thumb caressed Lucas’s neck which made the younger man suspicious. At once Lucas was on alert. “You’ll take the place right next to me.”

  “Okay,” Lucas muttered, uncertain about that being a good thing.

  Yuri leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, “It’s either that, or you’ll have to deal with a line-up. Your choice.”

  Glancing at the rest of the men, Lucas realized that there was not much of a choice. Yuri looked at least healthy, which was not the case with all of them. He knew that he had to make deals with the men in here if he wanted to survive, and it looked like he was already forced to agree to one.

 

*tovarischi = comrades

xXx

 

  Yuri became the one who showed Lucas the ropes. The labour was hard, working in a surface mine, and in the evening Lucas dropped onto the cot with exhaustion. Yuri lay beside him and Lucas worried. Sooner rather than later, Yuri would demand the payment for his protection. While Lucas was prepared to defend himself against assaults from the other inmates with brute force, he felt that he had no other choice but to meet Yuri’s demands as it would be too easy for his others cellmates to overpower him within the confines of their cell. Lucas believed to have no other choice but to accept another evil in order to avoid being forced to serve all of them.

  It seemed rather a paradox as Lucas knew the strict legal stance on homosexuality, and that most Russians, regardless of their own opinion on the subject, fell in line with the propaganda. Some even claimed to view same sex orientation as a disease. Accordingly actual homosexuals would be at the very end of the prison’s food chain. However, rape was not about sex, even though the men certainly missed it. First and foremost rape was about power.

  It would not be as easy as it sounded, though. Lucas did not think that Yuri would be brutal, trying to break him in like a horse, but the idea of having homosexual intercourse still appalled the spook. He did not want to sell his body. It was as simple as that, and yet Lucas could not see a way around it. He had nothing else to offer and he knew that he would be in for a very hard time if he lost Yuri’s protection.

  Fate, for once, turned out to be on Lucas’s side.

  They were working near the steep side of the opencast pit when ominous cracking sounds alarmed Lucas. He was not sure what it could be, but with every fibre of his being he sensed that something was wrong. Between strokes with his pickaxe, Lucas’s gaze kept drifting back to the towering rock formation, and his presentiment of danger intensified. Another crack made not only him look up from his work. Some of the workers were dangerously close to the wall. Lucas acted out of pure instinct, doing something that was incredibly stupid in hindsight.

  He let his tool drop and jumped into the driver’s seat of one of the guards’ cars, chasing it toward the other inmates. Yelling at them to jump up onto the vehicle, Lucas glanced up at the rocks, right when a big part burst with a thundering noise, sending a landslide down the steep slope.

  _Shit!_

  Lucas pressed his foot on the accelerator, ignoring the falling rocks and thinking only of the men in danger of being buried.

  “Davai!” he shouted as he chased the car toward Yuri and the others. His cellmate searched for a hold on the body and jumped onto the jeep. Two more were close enough to reach the vehicle as well, when Lucas slowed just enough for them to make the jump, but he could hear others yell for him to wait.

  _Impossible!_

  Driven by adrenalin, Lucas accelerated again. On the periphery of his vision he saw the rocks slide toward them. Suddenly the car bounced up and to the side. The impact threw Lucas so far up that he lost touch with the seat, only to drop back into it just as a stream of gravel washed against the side of the jeep and pushed it along. For a horrible moment, Lucas thought that they would turn over, but somehow he managed to steer the car clear of the rubble.

  When Lucas stopped the car and the inmates got off it, guards approached, guns raised. Holding up his hands, he awkwardly got out of the car, shouting, “Don’t shoot! We comply! Don’t shoot!”

  The guards ordered them to step aside and did their best to get order back into the excited group. One of them yelled at Lucas, reprimanding and threatening him. He already thought he would end up in solitary for taking the car, but they stopped at yelling.

  Thankfully none of those who escaped the landslide was seriously injured. Abrasions and lacerations were hurriedly treated. Aside from that one of the men had broken his arm, which was not that bad, seeing that for two others any kind of help came too late. When the freezing water broke a huge piece of stone out of the mine's wall they were too close by and were buried alive by falling rocks. The man whom Lucas had noticed on his first day at the camp as one at the very end of the food chain was one of them and he felt bad about the fact that he could not save all of them.

  One quite positive aspect of the whole matter was that Yuri now treated Lucas with much more respect than before, and Lucas did not need to worry anymore about having to serve him.

 

xXx

 

  Now that Lucas was accepted by the other inmates he made contacts and learned about the culture at the labour camp. By now he knew whom he had to address when he needed anything, and he had decided to talk with _Tolkach_ about his situation. Carefully he approached the man who was said to be the labour camp's wheeler-dealer. As everyone knew who Lucas was, it was no surprise for the spook when Tolkach was reluctant to agree to any kind of deal.

  “Look,” Lucas tried to explain, “I have no one on the outside, no way to get money or goods to trade. All I have are my skills. Perhaps you know someone who would have use for them. Someone who would be able to help me get by in exchange for my services.”

  “And just what skills would a banker possess that would be useful in a place like this?”

  Lucas would not, knew he could not, acknowledge being a spy, being trained to kill. The moment he did that, the FSB would take him back and his life would get much worse.

  “You’re a resourceful man,” he finally said. “I’m sure you can think of something I might be good at.”

  “And what if I do?” Tolkach asked. “What would I get in exchange for helping you make such a connection?”

  “I would owe you a favour,” Lucas replied.

  Of course, it went without saying that it would be the kind of favour that made the difference between life and death. Lucas knew it could come back to haunt him, but he needed to do _something_ , because his status alone could buy him nothing at all.

  “I’ll let you know,” Tolkach told him flatly and returned to the book he was reading.

  Feeling dismissed, Lucas returned to Yuri and Sergei.

  “You all right?” Yuri asked.

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” Lucas nodded. “I think he’ll help.”

  Yuri chuckled. “Tolkach never helps. He only works when he’s paid.”

  Thoughtfully, Lucas sank onto a bench.

  “You know, James,” Yuri said, sitting down beside him. “I think you should get a tattoo.”

  Lucas scowled. “I don’t like tattoos.”

  “It’s not about liking them,” Yuri explained. “They tell others about who you are. You still are new. Nobody knows about you. You need to show them that you can be trusted.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Lucas prodded. “You trust me, don’t you?”

  “As long as your friendship profits more than it costs me... but believe me, James, you should wear something right on your skin that makes a clear statement about you.”

  Lucas still was not convinced. It was not just the fact that he disliked tattoos. He knew that tattooing in prison could be dangerous because it could transfer diseases and cause infection.

  “Just do yourself a favour and speak with Khudozhnik,” Yuri said. “You’ll see.”

  Even though he still was not sure about it, Lucas agreed to see him.

 

xXx

 

  “Well, I think that Yuri is right,” the tattoo artist told Lucas when he met with him during lunch break.

  Lucas still was undecided. “I don’t understand why it’s so important to you if I’m wearing a tattoo or not.”

  “It’s not about us,” Khudozhnik told him matter-of-factly. “It’s about you. It’s about making a statement. It’s about expressing who you are.”

  “I definitely don’t see myself with a rose tattoo, or a sailboat,” Lucas groaned. “Really not.”

  “No?” the artist pressed. “Being sent to the camps for trying to escape...? You’re predestined for a sailboat.”

  Lucas was stunned. How did this man know about the reason why he was sent here? He had not told anyone about it, not even Yuri.

  “But...”

  “Tattooing uses a special code, Lucas,” Khudozhnik explained. “A sailboat stands for the desire for freedom. It also matters where the picture’s placed on your body.”

  “And you think it’s wise to express that wish publicly?” Lucas queried.

  “It’s not like you’re painting ‘I want to escape’ on your forehead,” Khudozhnik shrugged. “You can choose something more subtle. A chain with broken links for example. There’s a number of symbols depicting your wish.”

  For a moment Lucas remained silent, thinking about what he was told. It sounded logical, but he still was reluctant about marking his body permanently.

  “Did Yuri mention to you that a tattoo’s also a sign of belonging?” the artist shook Lucas out of his musings.

  “Belonging?” Lucas’s insides constricted with the idea of _belonging_ to this world. Mere months ago he had belonged at the side of a beautiful young woman and to a job that he loved because it made the world of his new family a little bit safer. At the age of twenty-six he dreamed simple, idealistic dreams of having children with Elizavieta and becoming chief of Section D. Harry had taken him under his wing, which might turn him into his successor one day. A future that still lay in the shadows and that might be lost to him forever now.

  “Well, like it or not, you’re stuck here, my boy,” the artist explained. “Whatever you do gains you a reputation and tattoos play the part of a society’s basic code. When the others see your tattoo, all members of the community immediately understand what to do and how to behave. However, the language of the tattoos brings about not only an interpersonal social discourse but also an intrapersonal discourse in which the encounter with the body transforms the tattoo from a mere decoration into a symbol and a visual embodiment of sensations, emotions, and ideology. With your actions you earned yourself the right to bear a tattoo, so you should really go along with the flow.”

  For the second time, Lucas was astonished, this time by the depths of the artist's analysis as well as his language.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “Because Tolkach said you wanted a tattoo.”

  Lucas chuckled. “No, I mean here, at the labour camp. Do you mind telling me how you got here?”

  “I’m an artist...” he started reluctantly. “And as it happens to the majority, my art was breadless. I needed money to feed my family... and did business with the wrong people.”

  “What did they want?”

  “Faked masterpieces?”

  Lucas’s brows shot up. “You’re that good?”

  “Yeah. I’ve studied at the St. Petersburg Academy of Art. Unfortunately, being good alone does not pay the bills. I tried to work as a teacher. I even painted walls... in plain grey. But I didn’t earn enough, so I made a decision.”

  “Sorry.”

  Khudozhnik smirked.

  “We’re all innocent. Don’t you know that?”

  “I was told as much,” Lucas smirked back before he became serious. “Do you use actual ink?”

  “Define ink.”

  “Ink bought at a store.”

  The artist huffed. “Keep dreaming. I use what I can get my hands on. Mostly urine and ash.”

  Lucas wrinkled his nose. “Urine... nice. Um... could you use my own?”

  “Could do.”

  Thoughtfully, Lucas nodded. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You shouldn’t wait too long,” the artist advised.

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow, all right?”

  “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  Lucas returned the crooked grin and began to think about what he would want to have tattooed and where as he walked back to his place of work.

 

tbc…

 


	5. While I live I hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I had to solve an issue that arose while polishing. Enjoy!

**Labour camp**

**2000**

 

  When the old year turned into a new millennium, a fresh tattoo adorned Lucas's left arm, reading _see nothing, hear nothing, and say nothing to nobody_ in Cyrillic letters. On the inside of his left wrist he bore five dots, and Khudozhnik already had started a third tattoo on his right forearm.

  Surprisingly, Lucas developed a new attitude toward his tattoos. With the reactions of his fellow inmates his own view of the body art changed and he started to wear it with pride. Khudozhnik actually was a brilliant artist, and Lucas was astonished by how detailed he could work with the poor means available. He even entertained the idea of adding a symbol for the time he spent in prison. It made sense, but he wanted to combine it with something that was significant for himself.

  Masses of snow forced the inmates to stay in the barracks as work outside was not possible, even for coldness-proven Russians. Some of his time, Lucas spent teaching English, which enabled him to trade favours. It became less cold and a short spring turned into a bright summer. The tattoo on Lucas’s right forearm, a band with broken chain links, had not remained the last. A compass rose and, yes, a sailboat had joined it. Almost a year had passed now and Lucas thought about asking Khudozhnik for another work. One of his English students gave him a few sheets of paper and Lucas passed his scarce spare time with drawing.

  According to Khudozhnik the domes of churches often were used to depict the number of prison terms or number of years of the sentence. The habit originated from the phrase 'the Church is the House of God', that was often inscribed beneath a cathedral and had the metaphorical meaning of 'Prison is the Home of the Thief'. So Lucas tried to design a dome in order to make it more personal.

  "That's good," Khudozhnik stated when Lucas showed the sketches to him. "What's that?"

  "Oh, just some scribbles," Lucas warded off and wanted to put the sheets aside. The artist was faster, though, and pulled the papers out of his hands.

  "That's really nice," Khudozhnik praised. "I didn't think you had a thing for art."

  "It's been ages since I sketched anything," Lucas shrugged. "At school, I guess."

  "You should do it more often."

  "Probably," Lucas mused and took the papers back.

  "Do you already know what you want along with the dome?"

  Lucas shook his head.

  "Or where you want it?"

  "On my back," Lucas declared. "I think it should be something across the shoulders, then the domes can go onto the back."

  Khudozhnik nodded. Knowing about Lucas's uncertain status within the judicial system, he carefully asked, "You're planning ahead?"

  "Just in case," Lucas shrugged. "I trust my people, but I don't trust the FSB."

  “Now there are two words that shouldn’t be used in the same sentence,” Khudozhnik snorted wryly. “You really think they'll hold you indefinitely."

  "They'll try."

  At that Khudozhnik sighed. "That must be horrible. I mean, the rest of us at least know how long we can expect to be stuck here. How are you dealing with it?"

  More than anything else, Lucas's silence spoke volumes.

  "I see," the artist murmured, patting Lucas's shoulder. "If you want to t..."

  "No," Lucas shook his head. "No. I'll think about the tattoo. I have a feeling as if it's going to come to me soon."

  "Fine," Khudozhnik replied. "You know where to find me." He smiled. "And keep sketching. Those are really good."

  Lucas returned the smile and looked at the pictures again. The pastures he drew depicted the rolling hills of his Cumbrian home. They probably did not look like he remembered them, but then he had last seen them when he was a boy. His heart ached as he studied the lines he had drawn and tried to recall the colours of the flowers, the shades of green, and the scents of the mountains. At some point he noticed that his vision blurred with unshed tears.

  _Pull yourself together! You won't cry in front of the others! Show weakness and they'll eat you alive!_

  Carefully he folded the pages and was about to put them into his parka, when he noticed the murmur around him. Looking up, he spotted three men who strode toward him whom he instantly recognized as FSB officers.

  _Shit!_

  Before he could stand up, the men were beside him and grabbed his arms, wrenching them behind his back as they roughly pulled him up. A groan escaped him, when rope was wrapped tight around his wrists. Guards hovered in the vicinity, ready to stop any quarrel. Khudozhnik craned his neck to see better what was happening, but Lucas knew that nobody would step in. Why should they? The last thing he saw before a blindfold slid over his eyes was the questioning look of the artist.

  _What do they want? Where are they taking me? Is this the end of my stay here? Actually I just got used to it. Maybe that's why they're taking me away from here. Allowing no routine to build._

  A gust of icy wind greeted Lucas and he stepped into a patch of mud. Both fed his suspicions that the FSB removed him from the labour camp. He expected them to stuff him into a car, but they entered another barrack instead. Lucas heard the echoing of their boots as they dragged him along. As soon as they stopped, the ropes were untied. The men shoved Lucas to his knees and forcefully stripped him of his coat, shirt, and underwear before they stretched his arms out to his sides, binding them to a steel bar.

  _What's going on?_

  Still blindfolded, Lucas could not tell if anyone else was there but he suspected as much. It had to be an interrogator. Lucas's breathing accelerated when he imagined what they might do to him. In his current position he was utterly helpless and exposed, leaving him at the interrogator's mercy.

  A mercy that he should not count on.

  Confirming his worst suspicions, a swishing sound alerted him of the coming impact a split second before the whip bit his skin. Despite his best intentions, he howled with pain. A second stroke made him scream. Tears soaked his blindfold. Panting, Lucas tried to process the fire burning his back. Another stroke caused him to jerk in his ties, sobbing and gasping with the futile attempt to manage the agony.

_I wonder if the others can hear me in the other barrack._

  More screams stressed his vocal cords and Lucas feared that he would not be able to speak when they started asking questions.

  All of a sudden the torture stopped.

  Still breathing hard, Lucas hung in his bonds, unable to control his sobs and moans as the steps of the men faded away.

  _They left me alone. God, I hope they won't return any time soon._

  On the other hand the position they had forced him into was anything but comfortable.

  _Please!_

  So far nobody came to relieve his anguish. Due to kneeling upright, his knees hurt. Being stretched in unusual directions, his muscles were sore, quivering with the strain. And the whipping left his back on fire.

  While the blindfold had added to his panic earlier, Lucas now relished the darkness. Just for the moment, he reverted to the childish belief that, if he could not see his captors, they could not see him, and he found comfort in the surreal sensation.

  “Hello, Lucas.”

  Lucas started at hearing the familiar voice. For obvious reasons, namely the remote location of the camp, he did not expect the FSB to show up there, least of all a high-ranking officer like Major Andrey Ukhov who was one of the men who had interrogated him at Lefortovo.

  “You seem surprised.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Lucas admitted and felt his insides constrict as he still could not see. “What have I done to deserve the honour of a visit from you?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Ukhov said disdainfully. “We wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  _Good, until your goons beat the shit out of me,_ Lucas inwardly spat. Instead, he managed to prod in a subdued tone, “Doesn’t the warden report to you?”

  “Of course he does,” Ukhov agreed.

  Lucas heard his steps approach and awaited his touch, but nothing happened.

  “I wanted to see for myself.”

  “Well, here I am,” Lucas scoffed. Still tied in spread-eagle fashion, he was effectively put on show for the FSB officer. “Do I meet your expectations?”

  At that Ukhov chuckled humourlessly before he became earnest and stated, “You’re looking good, Lucas.”

  _You have a weird definition of 'looking good',_ Lucas thought bitterly. _I'm definitely not feeling that way. Any chance you might let me return to London?_

  Right at the moment he would actually be glad if the Russian just let him return to his cell. So far Ukhov had not laid hand on him, but he certainly had ordered his beating, and Lucas suspected that it could only get worse.

  Proving Lucas right, Ukhov chirruped, “You know, Lucas, we should get rid of these ropes, right? Then we can talk properly.”

  _Whatever you think is properly,_ Lucas inwardly snarled.

  While the Russian picked at the ties, the spook noticed that he had trouble keeping his balance in his awkward position. His knees hurt even more with the effort and he caught himself grabbing at the bar he was bound to a moment ago for support. Lucas heard a metallic snap and a second later the rope around his other wrist fell away.

  Just for a second he swayed before a boot connected with his back, sending him sprawling. Lucas thought he heard his knees pop when his legs stretched out, the joints and muscles hurting. Before he got a chance to try and get up, Ukhov stepped around the construction and put his boot firmly on the small of Lucas’s back, pinning him to the floor.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?” Ukhov sneered.

  _Cosy._

  Groaning, Lucas gritted his teeth when Ukhov ground his heel in.

  _Suck it, Lucas,_ he told himself. _It could be worse._

  Slowly his fingers curled up to fists, as he tried to fight the pain, his nails digging into his palms. His ribs ached under the pressure that also made breathing next to impossible. Lucas gasped for shallow breaths. In vain, he tried to squirm into another position that allowed him to draw in more air.

  “I’ve heard about your heroic deed, Lucas,” Ukhov told him, pushing his foot down for emphasis. “Such a brave thing to do. So worthy of a spy.”

  Lucas refrained from pointing out that he was no spy. It would make no difference. It did not matter if they believed he was with Five or if they knew it for sure. It would not stop the questions and it would not stop the torture.

  “It may make a difference where your fellow prisoners are concerned,” Ukhov went on, “it doesn’t change anything between us.”

  Pushing his boot under Lucas’s shoulder, Ukhov turned him over. The rough surface tore on Lucas’s wounds which made him groan again.

  “Those tattoos…” Ukhov drawled, “You still believe you could get out, right?” Now his boot pressed down on Lucas’s left chest, making his ribs ache. “But there’s no news from London. Nobody’s tried to contact us on your behalf. They seem to have forgotten about you.”

    Even though Lucas tended not to believe those cruel words, he could not help feeling betrayed. It stung like a hornet's sting and made his skin burn from the inside.

  “Harry’s given up on you,” Ukhov went on. “Maybe he’s under the impression that you let him down.”

  Scowling, Lucas broke his intention of remaining silent, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He might think you were the traitor,” Ukhov explained. “In that case he has good reason not to press for your release.”

  _If you knew him at all, you would not dare talk like that about him._

  Clenching his teeth, Lucas stared up stubbornly.

  “I see, you still believe in him,” the Russian smirked. “You trust him.”

  _I have more reason to trust Harry than_ _to trust you._

  “I have to admit that I’m surprised,” Ukhov gravely told him. “Twelve months have gone by without as much as a peep from your boss. He doesn’t _deserve_ your trust.”

  Even though Lucas knew by now how much time really had passed, hearing the truth from Ukhov was like a blow to the solarplexus. The seed of doubt had been sown and Lucas knew that it would come back to haunt him.

  “Too bad that it’s so cold here,” Ukhov sneered, stepping backwards. Near the wall, he bent down to pick up a bucket. “Even in here the water’s freezing.” He chuckled. “It would be rather unfortunate if it froze in your throat, right?”

  Of course, Lucas felt the bitter cold. It was not the cool concrete, though, that made him shiver now. Knowing only too well what Ukhov was referring to, he fiercely clenched his fists again to keep himself from showing another reaction.

  “Major Georgieva’s told us about how much you enjoyed her interrogation,” Ukhov taunted. “Maybe we should try it anyway.”

  _No!_

  When the Russian came closer this time, Lucas backed away, which made Ukhov laugh.

  “Easy, Officer North,” he chuckled. “You only make it more difficult on yourself.”

  Lucas intended to make it as difficult for the Russians as possible. The major alone was not a problem. He could defend himself against him. The real problem was what he would be facing if he _did_ defend himself, which was likely to be worse than what lay ahead of him now.

  _No, no, no…_

  It rattled on in his mind as he scooted backward on the floor. Kneeling on the cold concrete floor had made his legs feel sore and somewhat disconnected. Hearing steps approach, Lucas looked around to see the other FSB officers come up behind him. They grabbed his arms and dragged him with them.

  _No! Please, noooo!_

  As his mind went numb, Lucas felt his body act on its own accord, his limbs struggling to wind out of the iron grips. Gasping for air in a panic, he writhed as much as was possible. He heard something clatter. All his thrashing about could not prevent him being forced down on the board that Ukhov had turned over.

  “Keep him there,” Ukhov coldly ordered.

  Three men held Lucas down, forcing his arms beside his body and binding him with rope. His breath caught in his chest and a whimper escaped him as the rope tightened around his wrists. He shivered with cold and fear, staring up at the ceiling as if there was something that could save him from this ordeal. All he could spot, though, was a mouse that ran across one of the wooden beams. It stopped for a second, looking around curiously, before it flit on and vanished from Lucas’s view.

  Feeling the board being lifted, bringing his legs above his head’s level, he lost it, a panicked scream tearing off his lips.

 

xXx

 

  Nobody dared to ask any questions when Lucas returned to the barrack and his cell. It was telling, though, that Yuri got up from the cot to give him space to lie down. Awkwardly, Lucas stretched out on his place, wishing he could instantly go to sleep, but the pain was bad and his soul ached even more. Seeing a couple of pages being held in his line of sight, he turned to look up at Yuri.

  "Khudozhnik saved those for you," Yuri said.

  Stunned, Lucas took the sketches. This was so thoughtful. He did not know what to say, so he settled on, " _Spasibo_."

  Yuri smiled sadly. "FSB?"

  "None of your business," Lucas grunted and pocketed the sketches, wincing at the pain.

  "What did they do?" Yuri prodded.

  "They didn't do anything," Lucas snarled. "Be so kind and leave me alone, will you?"

  Yuri slightly shook his head and lay down beside Lucas, murmuring, "The whole camp could hear you, James."

  _Great._

  "It wasn't that bad," Lucas warded off. When he twisted away to turn his back on Yuri, his groan gave away the lie.

  "Dear God, James," Yuri hissed. "Your shirt's bloody. Let me see."

  Lucas wanted to protest, but he did not have it in him anymore. He was so tired, physically and emotionally, which was the only reason that he allowed Yuri to remove his shirt without resistance.

  "Sergei, wash that out," Yuri ordered and gestured at someone else who brought him a wet cloth that he used to dab at Lucas's back.

  The situation was so surreal. Lucas could not wrap his head around it and just let it happen. When Yuri was done, he got a second blanket for Lucas and scooted up from behind, offering additional warmth and comfort when they settled for the night. Lucas was so wound up that he could hardly find sleep. His mind was on overdrive and it returned to the questions Khudozhnik had asked.

  'How are you dealing with it?'

  A question Lucas could not answer properly.

  So far he hardly followed any philosophy. Being unable to influence anything that was done to him, Lucas took what they inflicted on him and handled it as best as he could. What made him think now was that Khudozhnik was right about the uncertainty eating away at him. It was harder to take than any torture, and he felt that he was going to fall apart if he did not do something against it.

  _Is there a chance that the Russians will let me go at all? What if Ukhov is right and Five has written me off? I don't think that Harry would forget about me. He’ll fight to get me back, it’ll just take some time to pull the right strings. Harry will convince the Russians to agree to a deal._

  He sighed.

_Who are you kidding, Lucas? Nobody will come for me. Right, Harry certainly did not forget about me, but as the head of Section D he has other priorities, especially after so much time. I shouldn’t fool myself about it; a whole year has passed. I knew the risk. I was caught. I expected certain death, but I’m still here. I have to live with it, and my survival will be solely my responsibility. That's the life of a spook after all. Nobody knows we exist. Nobody ever acknowledges our efforts or sacrifices. Nobody will miss us when we fall in the line of duty._

_Nobody but the people who live in the same world. A parallel world the general public isn't aware of or comfortably forgets._

  Lucas lay awake for a long time that night, thinking. Numerous poems and quotes crossed his mind and one corresponded with how he felt. A picture formed in his mind that accompanied him into the oblivion of sleep.

  After breakfast Lucas made a sketch and went to see the artist.

  "You made a decision?" Khudozhnik asked.

  "Yes," Lucas nodded. "I know now what I want you to tattoo. Here."

  He handed the tattoo artist the page with his design and told him where he should put it. Khudoznik nodded thoughtfully and they agreed to meet later for a tattoo session. In the evening, Lucas wore his first onion dome with the double cross of the Russian orthodox church on his back as well as a phrase across his shoulders:

 

**DUM SPIRO SPERO**

 

tbc…

 

spasibo = thank you


	6. No end in sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kudos and your feedback. I really appreciate the exchange as this is quite intensive to write. Happy New Year!

**2001**

**Labour camp**

 

  A second onion dome tattoo had joined the first one on Lucas’s back. Khudozhnik really worked miracles with the poor equipment he made himself from the scraps of the camp. He was thorough and as clean as possible, trying to minimize the danger of infection. Most amazing was what he achieved with a simple needle and ink, though. Even more astounding was what he drew with a pencil… or sculpted out of snow.

  Lucas and the artist became good friends. When they did not have to work and Lucas did not teach his English students, they spent their spare time together, chatting about all the world and his brother or drawing. Lucas probably was the only one who actually called his friend by his first name, Gennady. Everyone else just used his nickname.

  Several months had gone by since Major Ukhov came to interrogate Lucas, but the spook knew better than to believe they had finally given up on him. His suspicions were proven right when guards kept him from going out to the mine with his fellow inmates and took him to another barrack instead. There he had to wait at a small table in a room without windows.

  For how long he waited, Lucas could not tell, but when the door finally opened and the interrogator entered, he was surprised.

  “Arkady Kachimov.”

  “Hello, Lucas.”

  “What brings you here?” Lucas asked with honest interest.

  “Do I need a reason to visit you?” Kachimov asked back as he sat down on the other side of the table.

  “I guess that personally you couldn’t care less,” Lucas shrugged.

  “Oh, Lucas, I am wounded.”

  “That was not my intention,” Lucas said. “So, what are you interested in?”

  “Your darkest secrets of course,” Kachimov smirked.

  At that Lucas nodded gravely.

  “When I was fifteen I snogged Duncan Kavanagh out of curiosity. If my father knew about that he would have flayed me.”

  “That is not _exactly_ what I meant,” Kachimov chuckled.

  “Then I got you wrong,” Lucas shrugged.

  For a couple of minutes they just sat on opposite sides of the table and stared at each other.

  Lucas did not intend to ask any more questions. If anything, that was Kachimov's job. Maybe he might ask something later if they actually started a proper conversation, but right then it was better to remain silent.

  “How are they treating you here?” Kachimov finally asked.

  “Like everyone else.”

  “I did not mean the guards,” Kachimov specified.

  “I know.”

  Kachimov nodded. “The physical work seems to do you good.”

  This time Lucas answered with an indifferent shrug. He sure could do without the labour but there was no getting around it, and it was still preferable over torture.

  “Those tattoos are new,” Kachimov stated, nodding at Lucas’s wrists.

  “I’m going with the flow,” Lucas replied with false lightness.

  Once more Kachimov accepted this with another nod. “It’s good to see you coping, Lucas,” he said. “You are going to stay here for a while after all.”

  Which was precisely what Lucas suspected.

  “Well, that would be easy to change,” he challenged.

  A smirk cracked the Russian’s features.

  “Which is probably not as easy as you may think, Lucas,” Kachimov said. “You have not exactly been forthcoming with information.”

  Something Lucas did not intend to change.

  “You can trust me, Lucas,” Kachimov said. “You know that, right?”

  “How can I trust you?” Lucas replied. To him the Russian’s words sounded like mockery. “You sent me to jail, without a trial, and you don’t intend to let me go.”

  “Oh, Lucas,” Kachimov nonchalantly said, holding up his hands pacifyingly. “What else should I do with a spy? Hm?” He quirked his brows and smiled. “You entranced poor Katya, fed her lies about us, about our country, and for what? To gain some unimportant information. You sacrificed her for your outdated ideals. Being imprisoned is a small price to pay.”

  It made sense.

  Lucas intensely studied the scratches on the tabletop. _Arkady may be right. I'm not a good person. What good man does that to a young mother? She's not my only sin, either. This could be my penance._

  “You are not very talkative today, Lucas.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “That is a pity,” Kachimov chided. “You really should think about your attitude, Lucas. I could be your friend. I could help you, make certain privileges available to you. In return you need to give me something, a sign of goodwill so to speak.”

  Lucas scowled. What Kachimov was asking was totally out of the question.

  _Sell my soul for some insignificant benefits? I’m not a traitor!_

  Knowing the consequences made choosing the right thing all the harder. When the silence became uncomfortable, though, Lucas knew that he had to fill it somehow, settling on, “I don’t want to talk about my life here, Arkady.”

  This time Kachimov studied him more closely before he asked, “What would you like to talk about?”

  For a moment, Lucas let him wait.

  “Anything else,” he suggested. “Do you play chess?”

  “I love chess,” Kachimov agreed, raising one brow questioningly. “Some of the best players are from Russia.”

  “I know,” Lucas nodded. “Maybe you could bring a board along next time.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting we should play chess together?” Kachimov queried with undisguised amusement.

  Seeing that he could amuse the Russian, Lucas dared to push his luck with a challenge, “I thought we already were. You’re not afraid I could beat you, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Kachimov declared and added jovially, “I accept your challenge. In fact, I will have a chess set sent to you when I return to Moscow, so that you may practice and be ready for me, if you can find any worthy opponents among this rabble.”

  Somehow, this sounded like a threat. Reflexively Lucas glanced at the door, worried that the other men would return. _I should not assume that Arkady would not resort to violence if he believed it to be warranted. That he never did before does not mean he is not capable of ordering my torture._

  Resigning himself to his fate, Lucas said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “In the meantime we should explore the differences and similarities of our services,” Kachimov went on in a conversational tone. “I am sure there is _something_ that you can tell me.”

  “Most certainly not,” Lucas remarked. It was his final word about that subject, but he knew that Kachimov on the other hand pursued his game with persistence and would get back to prodding for information sooner rather than later. With Kachimov it was a long game and it had just begun.

 

xXx

 

**2003**

**Labour camp**

 

  Hard labour in the mines paired with occasional visits from FSB officers who did their best to torture him into revealing anything useful ruled Lucas’s life at the labour camp. His friendship with Gennady and, at least to a certain point, Yuri, was what helped him through the darkest hours. After the interrogations, but also at random times, Lucas was on the verge of sliding into depression or suffered through stages of rage that threatened to consume him.

  Of course, his mood swings did not go unnoticed. While his cell mates knew him at least well enough not to mess with him at those occasions, other inmates who believed they could gain an advantage over him when he was not at his best, attempted to use the opportunity. Lucas taught them that they were mistaken and ended up in solitary for it.

  The seasons came and passed and three domes adorned Lucas’s back when another group of FSB officers arrived at the labour camp. Even though their visit did not come as a surprise, Lucas sensed that something was different this time and shifted his position beside Khudozhnik.

  “What’s wrong?” the artist asked, making a move with his bishop that cost Lucas one of his pawns.

  “I don’t know,” Lucas murmured. Still he could not concentrate on their game of chess. Instead, his gaze drifted over to the officers. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Putting his hand on his friend’s forearm, Khudozhnik squeezed reassuringly. Knowing what the men were likely to do to Lucas he wanted to reassure him. It was a futile attempt that Lucas appreciated.

  From where they sat outside one of the barracks they could see the FSB officers talk with the warden. That was new and it filled Lucas with dread. The chains they carried did nothing to ease his worries.

  “Be strong, my friend,” the artist murmured, touching his shoulder comfortingly.

  Lucas wished it were that easy. As he seriously doubted that they came to send him back to Great Britain, a very real fear filled him. Hard labour was nothing compared to what they had put him through at Lefortovo prison. He did not want to return to that place. He would rather die than go back to hell and a shiver coursed through him.

  “Thank you,” he replied hoarsely and patted his friend’s shoulder. More than words, though, his eyes conveyed his true emotions, his fear and his gratitude for more than just the encouraging words.

  When he saw the officers approach, Lucas knew he was right. This was goodbye. He would see none of his friends ever again.

  “This is yours now,” he tonelessly said, placing his hand over Gennady’s.

  “Godspeed,” the artist replied, beginning to gather up the pieces of the game.

  A last time they shared a knowing look before the FSB officers reached them.

  Steeling himself, Lucas calmly got up and the men put the irons around his wrists. As they led him away he did not look back. Even though he hated being incarcerated, he had become accustomed to this life and he would miss the men he called friends.

  They shoved him into their car and drove away. Taking Lucas to a yet unknown location.

 

xXx

 

**May 2003**

**Lefortovo prison**

 

  Lucas was anything but happy about seeing Lefortovo again. Major Ukhov on the other hand was all the more delighted to see Lucas.

  _Sadist,_ was all the spook could think when he was left at the major’s mercy. On Ukhov’s order he was tied to a chair, surrounded by big spotlights that emitted a lot of heat, which soon made Lucas sweat. The major sat beyond the ring of lamps and fired his questions at Lucas, focusing on Five’s structure and procedure and asking for assets and safehouses.

  Lucas refused to answer any of them.

  Heat and sleep deprivation finally got the better of Lucas and the guards hauled him to a cell where they dumped him on the cot. Despite his exhaustion, Lucas dragged himself over to the metal fixtures. He could barely push himself far enough up to reach the water tap. His arm slung over the basin he turned the tap and scooped up some water in his hand to drink. After a few gulps he managed to support himself on the toilet. The water quenched his thirst and he leaned against the wall for a moment to gather some strength for his return to the cot.

  After he finally made it and stretched out, it did not take long until Lucas was shivering. Searching for something to cover himself, he found a blanket to ease the cold enough for him to find rest.

  When Lucas woke, he still felt beat and remained where he was. His whole body was sore and he awkwardly shifted his position to lie on his back. In vain, he tried to return to sleep. It was too silent inside the thick walls of Lefortovo. Lucas missed the familiar sounds of the night in the cell at the labour camp. The breathing of the men beside him, some of them snoring, the rustling of clothes, and the creaking of wood. He missed the others’ presence.

  _I am missing the labour camp? Shouldn’t I miss my home?_

  Of course he did. His enforced stay at the camp had been more recent, though. Now he had to adjust to the changed circumstances and he strained his ears to listen to any sound that reached his cell. In vain. The prison lay silent.

  _Until it is filled with my screams again,_ Lucas thought miserably. _This respite won’t last for long. I wonder what has happened that they’re grilling me for information again after letting me more or less waste away at the labour camp before._

  There was no use in wracking his mind about it. All he could do was wait. All he could do was survive. One day after the other.

  _While I live, I hope._

  It was hard to hold on to those words in a godforsaken place like Lefortovo.

 

xXx

 

**September 2003**

**Lushanka interrogation camp**

 

  Lucas’s first impression was devastating. When they ordered him to step down from the jeep’s loading space he found himself in the courtyard of another camp. A mist of fine drizzle made the conglomeration of barracks look desolate. The cold crept through his inadequate clothes, chilling him to the bones.

  They led him into one of the barracks and shoved him into a cell, locking him in. Lucas went to the small window from where he could look into the courtyard. One of the glimpses he had caught during the ride had shown him wide spaces of marshland. This camp seemed to be in the back of beyond and Lucas wondered why they had brought him there.

  _Maybe they’ll just forget about me._

  With a sigh, Lucas stepped back from the window and sat down on the cot, pulling his legs up as he leaned against the wall. His chances to ever get back home were dwindling. Depression clawed at him and silent tears ran down his cheeks as night fell over the prison camp.

 

xXx

 

  If Lucas had thought that this camp would be comparable to the labour camp he was mistaken. One difference turned out to be that there were no joint meals. Either that or they made an exception for Lucas who was served his meagre breakfast in his cell. As he chewed on the dry bread with the thinnest layer of butter, he was glad that this cell was more spacious than the one at Lefortovo and miserable because he missed the company his fellow inmates provided.

  _Especially Gennady. Wonder how he’s doing._

  A sigh escaped him at the thought and taking another bite of the hard bread elicited another. When he had eaten the last bite, he put the plate on the cot and got up to use the space of his cell for a walk. That was another thing that he had missed at Lefortovo. For years, he had done hard labour and suddenly that was over. Even though the torture left him exhausted, Lucas yearned for the possibility to move about.

  There had been days when they just put him into an interrogation room and asked questions. Over and over again. Endlessly. Lucas would sit in his chair and keep silent. In the end, he would be as worn out as if they had tortured him physically. His muscles ached from the long hours of sitting still in interrogation, but nobody cared to take him to the exercise space up on the rooftop.

  As Lucas now paced his cell, he let his mind wander, trying to make sense of what happened during the last weeks. The FSB’s rekindled interest certainly had to do with something that happened between the two countries. Thing was that Lucas had no clue whatsoever about what it could be. Without access to any news, whether it be on TV or in form of newspapers or even whispered rumours, everything was pure speculation.

  The only significant information that Lucas had received during his time at the labour camp was the devastating news about the destruction of the World Trade Centre in New York. It had been a shock to the system. Not only for him, but also for a number of the other inmates. That someone had the guts to hijack passenger planes and fly them into the twin towers as well as the Pentagon was hard to take, even for the hard-boiled Russians.

  As a spook, Lucas could not help but wonder where the intelligence services had been. Where was the CIA? Where were America’s allies? Where were his own colleagues? Why was nobody there to prevent the terror attack?

  Hearing the door being unlocked, Lucas paused and turned to see who was coming. Two guards appeared and gestured him to step out into the hallway. They took his arms and led him down the corridor to another room that turned out to be a lavatory. Lucas was not against a shower as he was denied the opportunity for weeks now and undressed readily, but when they pushed him toward the showers he saw a third man enter the room. Alarmed by the other’s dark expression, Lucas furtively followed his motions. Seeing him pick up a hose and turn the tap, Lucas flinched.

  He had every reason to flinch.

  The water that hit him was icy cold.

  Holding up his hands defensively did not achieve anything but his hands being hit first. The water splashed all over him, soon making him shiver and cower away from the cold stream that followed him mercilessly. Shuddering and gasping, Lucas collapsed to the tiled floor. Only then the assault stopped.

  “Look at me,” an equally cold voice commanded.

  Still shuddering, Lucas raised his gaze to find a tall, brunette Russian whose stare was full of hatred. He stood with his fists planted firmly on his hips, glowering at the spook as if he wanted nothing more than to tear him apart, slowly and painfully.

  Lucas did his best not to show any fear, even though he clearly felt it. For some unknown reason that man loathed his hide and he clearly seemed to be in a position that gave him power over the prisoners. It was all Lucas could do not to choke when he studied the man who was about as tall as himself but much heavier built. Not fat, though. He was fit, tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, with large hands, tanned, weathered skin, and a short, woolly beard.

  “So you’re our star spy,” the Russian snarled menacingly. “Not very star like how you’re cowering there. Get up!”

  Awkwardly, because he had little control over his quivering limbs, Lucas got to his feet and did his best to straighten up. Even feeling exposed and degraded, he did not want to show weakness in front of that man whom he supposed to be an interrogator.

  “Don’t lay hand on him before Darshavin arrives,” the man spat. “Well, I didn’t, did I?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  “Good,” the man taunted. “I won’t need to, to make you miserable.” Turning to the guards he ordered, “Take him back.”

  While one of the guards grabbed Lucas’s ragged clothes, the other took their charge by the arm and dragged him forward. They manoeuvred him along the corridor and dropped him into the cell like they dropped his clothes. The door was locked and Lucas was on his own.

  Still wet and shivering heavily, Lucas bent to pick up the clothes. Pulling them on was somewhat difficult, but when he was finished he sat down onto the cot and wrapped the blanket around him, hoping that he would warm up soon.

 

tbc…


	7. Tides of time

**2003**

**Lushanka interrogation camp**

 

  _Darshavin._

  The name still rang in Lucas’s ears. Judging by what little he had learned about him, he had to be an interrogator. So far, he had not arrived but Lucas already despised him. He could not tell if the man’s absence or his impending arrival annoyed Belyakov, but whatever the reason, the senior guard took it out on his prisoner.

  One of the things Lucas wondered about was his food. Prison provisions always lacked the fine art of cooking, but what he had been given here so far did not even deserve to be called _meals_. Slop would be a more appropriate description. Actually he suspected that it was just another means for Belyakov to torment him.

  Without touching him.

  _Very important,_ Lucas knew that much, _because he apparently is not allowed to torture me._

  Which did not stop him.

  The cold shower had been the first of a series of more or less subtle cruelties. Belyakov’s malice probably would know no bounds if he was given free rein. As yet, Lucas could be glad that the guard’s means were limited and ranged from making him stand on the same spot for hours to ordering him to do push-ups until he collapsed.

  Letting the totally overcooked porridge drop off the spoon into the small bowl, Lucas wrinkled his nose. Given the fact that the Russians still wanted to get information from him, this had to be Belyakov’s doing. A dead man did not talk after all, and he soon would be starved to death if they kept up this kind of diet.

  _So, who’s Darshavin?_

  As annoyed as it made Belyakov, Lucas easily guessed that Darshavin was going to assume a position the senior guard had expected to earn himself. Maybe he had hoped for becoming his interrogator and being in charge of Lucas, and now someone else got that job.

  _Thankfully. I don’t want to know what he would do if he got official permission._

  Of course he could not know if Darshavin would not be worse. All he knew so far was that Belyakov took cruel delight in making him miserable and he really hoped that he would not be included in Darshavin’s plans.

  The sounds of a motor drew Lucas’s attention and he got up to look out at the courtyard where a jeep just stopped in front of the warden’s barrack. A couple of soldiers got out and quickly went into the house. Only one of them paused, pulling up the collar of his coat against the chilly wind that blew over the marshes. He looked around the camp, taking in the details of his surroundings, and pushed his hands into the coat pockets.

  Even from a distance he appeared cold and inapproachable, his features stern and his posture intimidating. His aura said ‘I own this place’, which made Lucas pretty certain about whom he was watching.

  _Darshavin._

  Straightening, the man turned around and followed the other soldiers inside. His brief appearance had been menacing, though, and Lucas got the unsettling feeling that he had only a brief reprieve.

 

xXx

 

  His last respite was shorter than expected. All of a sudden the door flew open and guards barged in, grabbing Lucas and putting a sack over his head. Instinct made him resist and plant his feet at first, but when common sense kicked in he went with the men readily if not willingly.

  _Don’t give them any reason for punishment,_ he told himself. _Igor would happily exploit it._

  Just for a second he was startled to find himself calling Belyakov by his first name, even in his head. The mere idea that he might ever be on first name terms with the sadistic guard was ridiculous.

  They took him down the corridor to another room and made him wait. Standing in what he presumed to be the middle of the room, the hood still covering his head, Lucas felt somewhat on edge.

  _So this is it. My first meeting with my new interrogator. What’s he trying to do, being dramatic? Scaring me?_

  Yes, he was nervous, but not scared. During four years of incarceration the Russians had done about everything to him that Lucas could think of and some things he never imagined.

  _On second thought, I probably should be scared as there’s still Belyakov. He may have been told not to touch me before my interrogator arrives, but who’s to say that he won’t be given approval now? And he’d certainly enjoy tormenting me._

  Drawing a deep breath that he released slowly, Lucas shifted his position and listened intently. Even though he heard no telltale sounds, he was pretty certain that he was not alone. If the penetrative smell he already knew did not linger, Belyakov was waiting with him. So far, Lucas had not figured out what gave off the disgustingly sweet scent, but he suspected that the guard used it to style his beard. It reminded Lucas of the obtrusive perfumes some women preferred, which he found totally inappropriate for a man like Belyakov. On the other hand it was a dead giveaway of the man’s presence so Lucas appreciated the forewarning.

  Although he could neither hear nor smell him, Lucas was convinced that Darshavin was there as well. It made sense after all, that he wanted to inspect the prisoner he was going to interrogate. The question was if Darshavin would talk with him now or if he just wanted to get a first impression.

  Beneath the hood, Lucas rolled his eyes. Waiting had never been one of his favourite ways to pass the time. When needed he could be patient, but he preferred a direct approach if possible. Of course he knew that they used waiting to demoralize him.

  _Maybe that’s why Belyakov told me about Darshavin, even though he was still several days due to arrive. Speculations are futile. I’ll find out soon enough._

  Hearing footsteps, Lucas braced himself. With a single pull that also tugged on his hair, someone removed the hood. Lucas blinked as he adjusted to the brightness. Then he got the first good look at the new man in charge of him.

  As Lucas now stared straight into the other’s dark brown eyes, they clearly were of the same height. The interrogator’s hair was a very dark brown and combed back with what appeared to be styling gel. For a second, Lucas thought of pomade, but then he wondered if the hair simply was greasy. Looking sternly at his prisoner the man’s full eyebrows were drawn together over his prominent nose, and long stubble shadowed his cheeks.

  Belyakov stood diagonally behind Darshavin, glowering at Lucas and daring him to reveal anything about the mistreatments.

  _I won’t do you that favour._

  Slowly but surely the waiting became annoying. Lucas felt the urge to break the silence, which probably was what Darshavin was waiting for. Would he answer or punish Lucas for speaking up? There was only one way to know.

  “So, you must be _tovarisch_ Darshavin,” Lucas said, using the outdated word for comrade in order to appear unaware of how to form a proper Russian address. Sure, he could have learned it during his imprisonment, but he wanted to see the new man’s response.

  He did not know what reaction he was expecting, but it was certainly not the one he got. The interrogator’s face became a sudden mask of rage and he moved so suddenly Lucas instinctively cringed away from the blow.

Which struck Belyakov squarely in the mouth.

  “ _Svoloch_!” Darshavin seethed. “My orders were to keep the prisoner in _complete isolation_ until I got here.”

  “We did as you instructed, Oleg Mikhailovich,” Belyakov whimpered in shock as he blotted his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. “He was never among the other prisoners!”

  Lucas had to work hard to keep the smirk from his face. This was sweet revenge, no matter that he would likely pay for it later. In addition he was provided with further information about the new interrogator. According to the usual way of address, his full name was Oleg Darshavin, Mikhailovich being the patronymic derived from his father’s first name. And another fact became apparent: He had no qualms about dealing out brutal punishments.

  “You useless _durak_!” Darshavin roared. “He was still among _you_ , else how would he already know my name?”

  Lucas decided to stay out of this. Putting on a mask of indifference, he watched furtively like the good spook that he was, pretending to be totally unfazed while he secretly enjoyed seeing Belyakov subdued.

  “I… don’t know how that could happen,” Belyakov defended himself. “He… must have overheard us.”

  His pronunciation had become somewhat slurred, which made Lucas suspect that the blow he had received damaged more than just his lip.

  “ _Proklyati blin_!” Darshavin thundered. “Get out of my sight!”

  Belyakov toddled off with his tail between his legs, which left Lucas on his own with the interrogator. All of a sudden, his anxiety intensified, seeing himself as the other’s sole focus.

  Darshavin stepped up right in front of him again, staring straight into his eyes. For a long minute they just stood like that before the interrogator asked, “Was it like he claimed?”

  Lucas just shrugged and Darshavin’s features darkened.

  “I see… You know better than to contradict him.” A dark growl from deep inside his chest rolled off Darshavin. Leaning forward into Lucas’s personal space, he commanded, “You stay right here.”

  Lucas did not do as much as turn his head when Darshavin strode past him and out of the room, the sounds of his heavy boots soon fading away. Once more forced to wait, he contemplated his first impressions. The interrogator sure looked as menacing up close as he did from a distance. A hint of disgust constricted Lucas’s insides at the idea that the grease in his hair actually was natural and not some styling product. As he spoke, Darshavin also revealed two gaps right in the middle between his front teeth, the one on the bottom being more pronounced.

  _A good soldier,_ Lucas deduced, _but one whose family could not afford the dentist. I guess he worked his way up the ranks until he was rewarded with this position. His family must be proud of him. Chief interrogator in a torture camp._

  Lucas tried to see the person behind the man’s position, but with as little information as he had that was hard to do. All he could do was wait and see how things developed. What really gave Lucas the creeps, though, was the adamant look in those dark chocolate coloured eyes.

  How long he had to wait, Lucas did not care. As soon as he heard footsteps again, he tensed up anyway. Now he would learn more. Expectantly he listened to the movement behind him.

  Still the kick against the hollow of his knees came out of the blue. It made him cry out and fall forward, landing on his fours.

  “Stay upright,” Darshavin commanded, grabbing his hair to yank him back.

  Kneeling at his captor’s feet, Lucas groaned.

  “Tell me what Belyakov did to you,” Darshavin ordered.

  _No way._

  “Answer me,” Darshavin snarled.

  “Nothing,” Lucas lied through gritted teeth. “He did nothing.”

  “I see,” Darshavin grunted. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

  _I have no idea,_ Lucas thought wryly. He felt the interrogator shift his stance. A moment later, rope wrapped around his neck. _No!_

  “Lie down!” Darshavin commanded, pushing him forward.

  Lucas came to lie prone with a grunt and Darshavin pulled his arms together behind his back, tying his wrists.

  “I have no idea why you’re lying for the bastard, but we can talk about another subject,” Darshavin jovially said, taking hold of Lucas’s left ankle and bending his leg. “Tell me about your assets in Moscow.”

  _Keep dreaming,_ Lucas stubbornly thought, even as he felt rope being tied around his ankle as well. Only when Darshavin let go and his muscles automatically relaxed did he realize that it was the rope around his neck. Gasping with shock, he lifted his leg again.

  “Something wrong?” Darshavin sweetly asked. “You sure you don’t want to talk with me?”

  _Really sure._

  Actually his resolve began to crumble. When his muscles tired, the rope tautened, choking him. With his hands bound as they were, he could not reach the rope and he was utterly incapable of shifting his position at all. As soon as the rope pressed on his neck, he fought to bend his leg. Fear made him successfully do it for a short while, then it began anew. Gradually the pressure increased until the full load of his leg weighed on the rope, cutting off his air supply.

  _Help me!_

  Lucas would have called out with desperation if he could have voiced anything at all. Obviously Darshavin knew about his distress, though, as he untied him…

  …only to bind his right leg instead.

  _Stop!_

  Lucas’s silent scream remained unheard. Right now, he could hold up his leg with ease, which gave him some respite, but that would not last forever. Soon his muscles would tire and he would fight for air again. It happened sooner than he had thought. Weakened from earlier suffocation, he could not muster the strength and he felt the rope tighten more and more.

  _No! Bend! I can…_

  Even his thoughts derailed as he battled against loss of consciousness. His vision already blurred and he would not be able to struggle much longer.

  All of a sudden the tension was gone. Darshavin had cut the rope and turned Lucas on his side.

  Gasping and retching, Lucas fought for air.

  “You really don’t want to tell me what Belyakov did?”

  “No,” Lucas croaked. “You already know, or you wouldn’t be so annoyed.”

  Darshavin laughed.

  “I was afraid already that you were defending the _durak_ ,” he chuckled. Clicking his fingers he gestured at two guards. “Take him to his cell.”

  Unceremoniously they picked him up from the floor and dragged him away. Lucas was too beat to notice that they did not return to his previous cell. Only when they stopped to untie his hands he looked at his new surroundings.

  _Tiled walls._

  That was new, as well as the simple cot and the bucket beside it. Stunned, Lucas realized that there was no window, which was the last thing he saw before the door fell shut and the light went out.

 

*svoloch = bastard

durak = fool/moron

proklyati blin = (roughly) damned thicko

xXx

 

  Miserable was what described Lucas’s condition best. Belyakov’s treatment had been bad enough, but Darshavin easily outmatched him.

  Hugging his knees to his chest, Lucas lay on his cot and wished for everything to be over, a mercy that remained denied to him. Whenever he heard someone approach his cell, his whole body tensed with fear, his stomach rolling unpleasantly. The food had become marginally better, but it could not balance out what Lucas had to endure.

  _Why can’t they just kill me?_

  Over and over it echoed in his mind. He never knew how much a human being was able to suffer without breaking. He was not even sure if it was his willpower that made him survive or if it was pure instinct, and even though he wished for a bullet to relieve him from his misery, he curiously realized that he was still far from taking his own life.

  Hearing the door being unlocked, Lucas tensed up. His stomach and his muscles hurt already and he knew it would only become worse.

  Four guards came in that yanked him off the cot and to his feet. One pulled on his sweater and once he had removed it, two others bound his wrists with rope. Then they led him outside. They chose another direction this time and entered what appeared to be a workshop. Purposefully the men steered him over to the workbench.

  _What now?_

  His question was answered by the men taking hold of his limbs, and before Lucas even comprehended their action, they hoisted him up onto the bench. A yell of shock escaped him. Struggling fiercely, he broke out of their hold and managed to kick at one of them. Before he could use his small advantage, though, another man yanked on the rope that tied his wrist, unbalancing him. Face first Lucas smashed onto the wooden surface, jarring his teeth and driving the air out of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he had no answer to the guard’s pull. They stretched his arms out in front of him and tied the rope to the bench. While one of the guards leaned on his back, weighing him down, the others spread his legs, binding them to the respective legs of the workbench.

  A sob painfully caught in his chest. Unable to do more than blink, Lucas lay prone on the wooden bench, fighting tears of desperation.

  _What’s going on? What are you going to do? Tell me! Please!_

  Fear made him shiver in his bonds. In his current position he felt exposed and vulnerable. So far, he had no idea of what lay ahead of him, but he trusted Darshavin to be inventive. The guards were gone now, which granted Lucas a short respite. Consciously he tried to relax his muscles, but he still strained against the ropes holding him.

  _Just what is he up to this time?_

  Hearing steps approach, he knew that his time was running out. Craning his neck, he saw Darshavin enter, accompanied by a man whom he had never seen before. The second man carried a case that Lucas eyed with suspicion. When he put it on another table and opened it, Lucas reared in his ties.

  “Easy,” Darshavin impassively said, putting his hand on the back of his captive’s neck.

  With his face pushed down between his outstretched arms, Lucas could not follow the preparations.

  _What’s going on?_

  A whimper escaped him as he once more strained against his bonds.

  “Shhh,” Darshavin said, his grip tightening.

  All Lucas could do was listen. Fast, shallow breaths hardly supplied him with enough oxygen and his body shuddered on its own accord.

  “Hold still,” Darshavin hissed close to his ear. “Or it’ll hurt even more.”

  “What?” Lucas croaked.

  “Your present,” the interrogator chirped.

  _Present?_ Now Lucas was confused.

  “You’ve put so much care into your body art, Lucas,” Darshavin mused aloud. “I thought I’d do you a favour.”

  _Oh, really? In what way?_

  A second later Lucas’s question was answered by action and he could not help but groan with pain when the sharp prick of the tattoo needle repeatedly pierced his back. In vain he fought a last time against his bonds before he gave up.

  “Another dome,” Darshavin laughed and wished with delight, “Happy fourth anniversary.”

 

xXx

 

**April 2007**

**Lushanka interrogation camp**

 

  Several days had passed since Lucas was last _interrogated._ Except that his _interrogator_ did not ask a single question. His time out of his cell dissolved in episodes of agony and anguish. When he was dumped back into the tiled hole, Lucas was ready to beg for a word of recognition if not compassion, but he was deprived of any solace.

  Lucas’s heart skipped a beat when the door to his cell swung open, smashing into the wall, and four guards barged in. Fear grabbed him when they put a hood over his head and jerked him to his feet. Leaving him in uncertainty was part of the tactic and it worked. Lucas was close to panicking as he was dragged along the hallway. They pressed through a door and shoved him down on a chair.

  There he sat and concentrated on his breathing. As they did not bother to remove the sack, he still depended on his other senses. He could hear footsteps fade away but was sure that not all of the guards left. At least one of them would stay at the door, watching him. Carefully he felt the space in front of him and touched wood.

  _A table. So maybe no torture session this time?_

  He could not be sure about that, which made sitting and waiting trying. When he finally heard steps approach, he could tell that the sounds did not come from the heavy boots the guards were wearing but from fine leather shoes. Lucas knew only one man who would come to Lushanka and wear such shoes.

  Carefully the sack was tugged off and he blinked a few times to adjust. When he finally looked ahead, he saw the other man sitting down on the other side of the table.

  “Hello, Lucas,” Arkady Kachimov said. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Lucas lied, knowing that the truth could not be overlooked. At the same time he noticed that Kachimov appeared a bit sturdier than the last time he had seen him. “How are things in Moscow?”

  “Same old, same old,” Kachimov shrugged, eyeing Lucas intently.

  Lucas did the same, trying to judge his situation. He was actually glad that he had been taken to see Kachimov. The FSB officer from Moskow did not come as often as he used to do when Lucas still was at Lefortovo. His visits did not bring pain, though, but distraction. Where his other interrogators were brutally trying to force any information out of him, Kachimov engaged in conversation, using elaborate techniques in order to elicit intel from Lucas. Compared to the other sessions that had him screaming, reducing him to a sobbing wreck in the end, Kachimov’s interviews were civilized.

  Somewhat sheepishly, Lucas caught himself looking forward to their conversation. So far nothing happened, though, and he began to wonder if something was wrong. After a few minutes, the waiting threatened to become unnerving until a guard came in, delivering a plate with freshly prepared meat and vegetables and placing it in front of Kachimov who did not even acknowledge him. When the guard was gone again, Kachimov finally stopped looking at Lucas and shoved the plate over to the prisoner.

  Lucas stared at the food with widening eyes. The smells alone made his mouth water, but he did not dare to touch the meal.

  “Go ahead, Lucas,” Kachimov encouraged. “You look like you would appreciate it.”

  _What an understatement!_

  Hesitantly, Lucas took the cutlery and started with some carrots. They were wonderful and he had to withstand the urge to wolf the meal down. Consciously taking small bites and forcing himself to chew thoroughly, he tried to avoid getting sick. As he took quite a while eating that way, he worried that Kachimov would become annoyed and take the food away, but the other man waited patiently.

  _It’s not his style anyway. He can be patient as a saint. Still, there’s a first time for everything… I wonder if the others are watching._

  Furtively, he searched the windowless room for a hidden camera or another means of surveillance but could not find one. They seemed to be completely on their own. With regret, he shoved the plate away in the end, leaving some of the potatoes behind. He simply could not eat more.

  Feeling the urge to fill the void between them, he said, “Thank you.”

  Kachimov offered him a lopsided smile. “I am sorry that the kitchen cannot provide a dish like this regularly.”

  _Oh, yeah, really sorry,_ Lucas inwardly snorted, taking care not to give his scorn away.

  “It is the budget,” Kachimov begged for understanding with a small shrug and in his characteristic lilt. “I would like to improve your conditions, Lucas… which would be easier if you were a bit more cooperative.”

  “Cooperative?” Lucas echoed.

  “Yes, of course,” Kachimov insisted. “You do not have to just waste away here, you know? You could be a valuable asset.”

  At that Lucas smirked wryly. Of course he knew what the FSB officer was getting at: Give us the information we want and you can get regular meals and a mattress. _Thank you, but no._

  “Who knows,” Kachimov went on as if he would not see Lucas’s sceptical expression. “Given the right circumstances you might even be allowed to go home.”

  _Home!_

  After his long imprisonment Lucas was not sure what _home_ felt like anymore. It was a distant memory and a dream that kept him from losing his faith and his mind. A few months ago, Lucas could not really estimate the exact time, he had been told that he observed his seventh anniversary. Seven years in prison. Without a trial, without a sentence.

  He took a deep breath.

  _Too long,_ Lucas stated. _Maybe I should accept his proposition_. _Just so I could get home. I could somehow turn the tables on Arkady and return to my proper position in Section D._

  It seemed a good plan and he tried not to look too interested as he asked, “What… circumstances?”

  Kachimov did not try to hide his surprise.

  “After all of this time, why do you entertain the possibility now?” the other spy wanted to know before answering.

  Lucas shrugged.

  “Let’s be honest, Arkady. Seven years have come and gone. If they haven’t rescued me from Lushanka by now, why would they bother in the future? You and I both know that, as fast as the world is changing, or at least as fast as it _was_ changing last time I was out in it, it’s highly unlikely that I know anything that’s still of value,” he said, determined not to believe it. “So, hypothetically, if I could get home to the UK, show them they can’t just write me off like a bad debt or a business expense, why not?”

  “A very sensible attitude, hypothetically,” Kachimov nodded. “Do you understand why I am a bit sceptical that you have come to your senses so suddenly?”

  Lucas had to put himself into a very dark place to avoid seeming smug. Fortunately, it was not that hard to do.

  “Actually, I was toying with the idea of coming over to the dark side for a while now, but when you were here the last time the subject didn’t come up.”

  A pleasant smile cracked Kachimov’s features.

  “I am pleased to see that we are finally thinking alike, Lucas.”

  “Well, then, before I let you get my hopes up, I need to know, can you really make this happen or have your superiors given up on me?”

  “Oh, Lucas,” Kachimov chuckled. “I have been around a long time. Like an old lion in the zoo, I am indulged, coddled, allowed certain liberties. They will look on you as one of my hobbies and never expect anything to come of it.”

  “And for how long would I be obligated to you?” Lucas asked.

  Kachimov shrugged. “For as long as you are useful.” he said. “Until you are found out or would retire from MI-5.”

  “But I would be home, in London?” Lucas sought to confirm.

  “As long as that is where your government chooses to have you stationed,” Kachimov assured him.

  “How long do I have to decide?”

  “I was under the impression that you were already decided,” Kachimov challenged.

  “That was when it was just a possibility,” Lucas admitted. Suddenly he had doubts, feeling as if he had been bought with a meal and some amenities. Would accepting an offer like this take the last seven years that he had sacrificed ad absurdum?

  Kachimov nodded. “I can give you twenty-four hours.”

  For a second, Lucas was relieved that he did not have to decide right away. As soon as he agreed to the deal, he would be a traitor, betraying everything he believed in. His service, his country… _Harry Pearce… But will a day’s time change my decision?_ Actually he did not think so.

  “You know what?” Lucas said. “To hell with it. I don’t need twenty-four hours. I’ll do it, Arkady. Take me home.”

 

tbc…


	8. Coping mechanisms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, this originally was chapter 1 and the scene with Arkady Kachimov in the previous chapter the prologue. Then I thought that I’d like to have another prologue or maybe two chapters explaining how and when Lucas got his tattoos. Well, you know what happened... LOL Enjoy!

**Lushanka interrogation camp**

**2007**

 

  Solitude.

  Living in a cosmopolitan city like London occasional solitude was a blessing. Times when you did not have to endure the constant ringing of phones, the buzzing of machines, the chatter of televisions, traffic, people, and all the other noises that accompanied modern life were rare and appreciated. Silence offered the soul room to recuperate and gain strength for another stressful day. That was even more important for someone who put his life at risk day after day, serving his country as an officer of her Majesty’s Secret Service. As a spook you had to be on alert twenty-four seven, which made peaceful times a treasure.

  In prison solitude became an enemy.

  For someone incarcerated at a Russian prison for espionage, what once had been a blessing was warped into a curse. Prolonged periods of solitude tore on the inmate’s nerves. With every passing minute the lack of any social intercourse became harder to bear.

  Lucas could not tell how much time had passed since he had last spoken to another person and he lost his desire to care. It had been days that felt like weeks since his interrogator had last visited him and he had not seen Kachimov for even longer. Of course he knew that that did not mean that they were not close by. For all he knew, they might be watching him. Constantly. Waiting for the right time to come and finally break him.

  Actually it might not take much more.

  After his last conversation with Arkady Kachimov, Lucas had thought that it would not take long now. Once he had agreed to become a double agent for the FSB, he had expected Kachimov to get the wheels in motion so he could return to England. For Lucas it had been a very long and hard journey to reach that conclusion, but once decided it had been so easy to say yes.

  Had he made a mistake? Did Kachimov’s influence not suffice to convince his superiors after all? For over seven years Lucas had remained steadfast. Maybe the powers that be doubted Kachimov’s word now.

  No matter what the reasons were, though, Lucas still sat in his cell and given the expectations Kachimov’s promise had raised, his incarceration was even harder to bear now.

  Deprived of any human contact, Lucas yearned for his interrogator to return. Sure, Oleg Darshavin’s presence meant more abuse, but at least Lucas would not remain in this vegetative state anymore.

  His ways of measuring time were limited. At irregular intervals, a guard would push a tray with food into his cell. There was no way to tell how much time passed between what passed for meals, though. Lucas seriously doubted that they kept a steady schedule. Letting him go hungry for longer periods was part of their strategy. It was meant to demoralize him. Just like his forced solitude was supposed to wear him down.

  It worked.

  Lucas hated to admit it, but it worked. By now, he craved the beatings because they meant that someone paid attention to him. They were far from compassionate, but at least they were communication. Well, somewhat. Darshavin would ask questions Lucas did not intend to answer and when the Russian decided he had waited long enough, he would cause Lucas more agony.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  With nothing to occupy his mind, Lucas concentrated on his breathing.

  In one, two, three.

  Out one, two, three.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Keeping his eyes closed, he sat on the cold concrete floor, cross-legged, trying to meditate. Tranquility eluded him, though, and he felt agitation rise.

  _In one, two, three._

_Out one, two, three._

  Forcing the matter made everything worse, adding frustration to agitation.

  His eyes flew open.

  Tiles.

  White.

  White tiles with a bluish tint caused by the fluorescent lights. Approximately four by twelve inches. Big yellow to brown stains thrown across the rectangular pattern. Dirt that already clung to the walls when he was first dumped into this hole and blood from the early days when he was not too lonely to resist each time they came to collect him for interrogation. It’s been there for years, and he’s only just now appalled to realize that no one has ever washed it off.

  A very dismal view.

  Taking another deep breath, he closed his eyes again in an attempt to focus. As so often, his mind conjured an image. Dark brown hair framing the fine features of his Russian beauty, love in her eyes and a soft smile playing around her lips. Elizaveta. He never told her about his service. When they arrested him, he could only wonder what MI5 would tell her about what had happened. Anything but the truth of course.

  Unsettlingly her picture began to fade around the edges. Even though he could still remember her physical appearance, it became increasingly difficult to recall her voice or how her touch felt on his skin. Of course, he knew that she did not remain the same, but he was not able to imagine her changed by the years that had passed. Before his mind’s eye, he saw the bright young woman he fell in love with and whom he had married a few months later.

  The picture flickered and dissolved.

  Tiles.

  Brightness.

  Cold.

  Lucas was trapped in a void.

  _It’s all in the breathing._

  Once more, he tried to resume his meditation. It was difficult. Positive thoughts would not come easily at a place like this and if he managed to grasp one, it got increasingly harder to cling to it.

  _You looked just perfect in your wedding dress. Smiling, radiating happiness. Glowing even. I still could…_

  His trip down memory lane was interrupted by his insides constricting uncomfortably. It was not pain. Not yet. Glaring at the tiles, Lucas did his best to relax. His stomach growled.

  _How long now?_

  It was anyone’s guess. Lucas had nothing to go by except his gnawing hunger. In here, time was meaningless. It passed mercilessly. Sometimes it felt like it went by fast, but most times it dragged along.

    Lucas would not even have been able to tell for how long he was imprisoned now if Darshavin had not taken to having his tattoos completed. There were seven domes on his back now. One for every year of his captivity. Three of them had been made by Darshavin’s command.

  _That’s three years at Lushanka now. Three bloody years in solitary._

  Solitude.

  An enemy that became progressively harder to fight.

  An enemy that assaulted him without ever laying a hand on him.

  An enemy that was immaterial but had the potential to be more devastating than the tortures he had to endure.

  In a twisted way, the interrogations he was put through were what saved him from going insane. Analyzing Kachimov’s strategy was one of the rare things he could occupy his mind with. Planning ahead was his favourite way to pass the time.

  Lucas let out a sigh and hung his head. Right now nothing seemed to work.

  _Who knows. If this continues for much longer I might go mad as a hatter._

  His cell did not offer any distraction. They only allowed him two pieces of furniture, a simple chair and a miserable prisoner’s cot, barely long enough for his six-foot-two frame and with a filthy old blanket covering the springs where a proper mattress should have been. A white bucket completed the interior.

  _It’s incredible what humans can learn to accept._

  Lucas grimaced when his thoughts drifted to the bucket. In the beginning, he had felt the degradation, but after years of imprisonment doing his business like that had become normal. Actually, that was why he was grimacing now.

  All of a sudden, grief tightened Lucas’s chest. He did not want to cave to it, but he could not help it. Painfully his heart clenched and he hung his head. Controlling his breathing usually helped. This time it proved to be a near impossible feat. His whole body tensed and his shoulder blades hurt as they pressed together.

  Lucas’s only retreat was his mind. The only part of him the bloody Russians could not detain. Reciting was a good weapon and poetry his ammunition. Grasping the first lines that came to his mind, he began to murmur soundlessly,

 

_I was angry with my friend:_

_I told my wrath, my wrath did end._

_I was angry with my foe:_

_I told it not, my wrath did grow._

 

  Oh, yes, his wrath did grow indeed. Of course, he knew that his favourite author, William Blake, once said that it was easier to forgive your enemies than to forgive a friend, but Lucas could not find any hint of forgiveness in himself where his captors were concerned.

_  
And I watered it in fears,_

_Night and morning with my tears;_

_And I sunned it with smiles,_

_And with soft deceitful wiles._

_  
And it grew both day and night,_

_Till it bore an apple bright._

  There he had to pause. The next line was gone. Lucas racked his mind. What was the next line? He searched his memory and somewhere deep in a corner he found it,

 

_And my foe beheld it shine._

_And he knew that it was mine,_

  Lucas hated that the words faded as well. Over the years, he forgot a number of poems and he had no way of refreshing his memory. Getting his hands on a book in the English language was nearly impossible and if Darshavin granted him such a rare treat, it certainly was not poetry by one of his favourite authors. Only occasionally, he got the opportunity to read in the Russian language, which was better than being deprived of literature entirely.

_  
And into my garden stole_

_When the night had veiled the pole;_

_In the morning glad I see_

_My foe outstretched beneath the tree._

 

  If only it was so easy. Still Lucas could fantasize about getting out of this hell hole and taking revenge, destroying Kachimov and the others like they worked on destroying him. It would be a sweet moment and he would relish every second of it.

  His stomach growled.

  As if the sound had summoned him, a guard appeared. Inwardly Lucas cursed as he had not heard him unlock the door. He let his guard down. Maybe the solitude tore more on him than he thought. Furtively, he watched the man step in and place a tray on the floor.

  “What day is it?”

  The question was out before Lucas could think about it. Stupid. He should not let them know that their tactic worked. It was too dangerous. Well, the guard did not answer. They never did. They had their instructions. Lucas did not even know why he tried.

  “You can’t even tell me what day it is?”

  _Are you out of your mind? Stop yourself!_

  Lucas was not sure what had got into him. It had to be their torture affecting him, because he sure as hell was not stupid enough to provoke his captors like that. A part of him probably turned mad already, because he felt himself getting up, growling, “C’mon!” in English of all things.

  He did not see the fist coming that struck the right side of his face. It sent him stumbling and another punch brought him down. Once more, the guard struck him in the head before kicking at his side. Winded, Lucas gasped for breath. He still lay beside the cot where he had fallen long after the guard had left. Groaning, he rolled onto his side. His gaze fell on the tray with food and despite his pain, his hunger returned. Still he could not make himself move. He just lay and wallowed in his agony.

  It was then that he realized that he felt more alive than only a few minutes ago. And he was looking forward to more. He was actually craving Darshavin’s return. Craving the torture. Just to be not alone.

  ‘That’s no way to live.’

  During seven long years of incarceration and torture he had never thought about taking his own life and it surprised Lucas how easily he came to considering it now.

  _Shut up!_ he inwardly yelled at the little devil on his shoulder.

  _I’m not giving up! Don’t you dare!_

  For another few minutes, he lay and stared at the tray sitting on the bare concrete. From this perspective it looked like the bowl and cup clung to a wall, which was somewhat weird. The scent of the Russian tea filled his nostrils and he wondered what the other smell was.

  _I should do something about that food before they decide to take it away again. The tea might be cold already._

  As it turned out it was lukewarm and the bowl filled with something that looked like gruel but was a mix of…

  Well, he did not really want to know, so he did not look too closely at the unidentifiable slop.

  _Scrapes from the pots that they dare not feed to their dogs._

  Most likely it was _kascha_ , the Russian equivalent to porridge, made of buckwheat. Whatever it was, though, it was better than going hungry. Surprisingly it tasted good this time. Lucas thought he even identified meat along with what seemed to be broccoli, onion, and carrots. The food also seemed to agree with his aching stomach. He could eat it all and washed it down with the tea.

  Just as he was finished the lights went out.

 

tbc…

 

 


	9. The Devil's Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that it took so long this time, but I encountered unexpected trouble with this and the following chapter. I think I resolved it now. Enjoy!

Thinking about suicide and committing it were two different things. Despite his desolate mental condition, Lucas was not ready to die yet. His physical condition was marginally better. Often, working out was the only thing he could focus on for days. He needed to stay in as good a shape as possible in order to resist the Russians’ intensive interrogations.

_Scratch resist. Make that endure._

Getting through the sessions without revealing anything became increasingly difficult. At the same time, his captors did not exactly become bored with him, but the sessions took place less frequently. While they intended to wear him down with solitude, he had more time to prepare for the next interrogation, which enabled him to get through it.

At least in the beginning.

During the latest months, though, the solitude progressively preyed on his mind, which was why he had even tried to speak to the guard when he came to deliver his food. It had earned him another beating and more time to think than he could handle. After he had polished off his porridge that day the lights went out…

…and did not turn on again.

Lucas had no idea how long this night lasted now.

_If the meals are any indication it’s been weeks._

A groan escaped him.

Lying on the concrete floor, he watched the slit of light at the bottom of the door. It was the only source of light and did not reach very far into the cell. Occasionally, Lucas saw a shadow pass, accompanied by footsteps. Each time he heard someone pass, Lucas listened closely, dreading to hear Igor Belyakov approach. After so much time in captivity, Lucas could pride himself on being able to tell the guards apart by their footsteps, a feat that clearly had its practical use, even though he found that it would be more impressive presented on some TV show.

Rarely, the shadow stopped outside the door. When it did, the flap opened and someone pushed a tray of food through.

Not once did the shadow last and reveal itself to be that of Oleg Darshavin.

‘When’s he coming back?’

The little devil on his left shoulder sounded suspiciously like Harry. Or at least how Lucas thought he remembered Harry sounding.

‘You’re not going to beg for his return, you coward,’ the angel on his right shoulder countered. He sounded like Harry, too.

‘You think you can handle it? Fine! But I think you’d be better off ending this.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ the angel told him. ‘He doesn’t have your best interests at heart.’

‘You’re not worth it. Why do you think nobody came for you? Why don’t you kill yourself and spare everyone the trouble?’

 _Now it’s happened!_ Lucas thought. _I’ve gone mad._

‘One more reason to end it,’ devil Harry snorted.

‘You are an outstanding MI-5 officer,’ angel Harry said, bobbing on his cloud and strumming his harp. ‘You are _my_ outstanding officer, and I _will_ get you back. I just need you to trust me. I need you to hold on a little while longer.’

‘If you are _his_ officer, then why did he leave you _here_?’ devil Harry demanded, poking angel Harry in the arse with his pitchfork. Angel Harry winced and rubbed his bum as his cloud drifted a little away from devil Harry.

‘It’s been seven years, Lucas. You’ve kept his secrets for _seven years_. Kept them too well, in fact. They’ve given up on getting them out of you because they’re stale. Nothing you know is current or of value anymore. He’s abandoned you here and the world has moved on without you. If you want out of this place, you have to get yourself out, and there is only one way to do that.’

‘Don’t listen to him, Lucas!’ angel Harry said desperately, and as he leaned forward, his halo caught the light and hurt Lucas’s eyes. ‘Your skills, your insight, they are as important as any secret you have kept. You just need to get through one day at a time, Lucas. If you survived yesterday, you can survive today. If you can survive today, you can survive tomorrow. I won’t let you quit! You are too valuable to me!’

‘As a pawn!’ devil Harry snapped. ‘He wants you to _survive_. Just _survive_. ‘One day at a time’ he says. What is this, a rehab clinic? You have _survived_ 2,711days in this hell-hole already. Back home, you had a wife, a house, a life that you actually _lived!_ How long are you willing to _survive_ a day at a time, just to be his pawn again? Nobody and nothing _lives_ in Lushanka except the rats and cockroaches. Better to end it, don’t you think?’

Lucas found it profoundly disturbing that devil Harry called Lushanka a hell-hole. Was it really _that_ bad? Had he gotten used to the cold and the squalor, the loneliness and the hunger... and the torture? If it was, and if he had....

Turning to angel Harry, he asked. “What if he’s right?”

‘He’s not,’ angel Harry insisted.

‘ _How would you know, safe and warm in your bed at night because men like me keep your secrets?_ ’ Lucas demanded.

‘Lucas, you just have to hang on,’ angel Harry pleaded. ‘I _will_ bring you home, someday.’

“Someday?” Lucas echoed on a low moan, never noticing the smirk on devil Harry’s face. ‘When is someday? When I’m too old and infirm to be of use to anybody? When I’ve become so accustomed to living like an animal that I can no longer live like a civilized man? _Look_ at me Harry! Wallowing in filth, marked like a common criminal. Maybe I’ve already gone feral. Maybe, if they were to take me out into the marshes at night I would sit on my haunches and howl at the moon! I have already given you the best part of my life, maybe I don’t want to wait for someday anymore!’

He did not see devil Harry sitting on his shoulder and grinning now with wicked glee.

‘Lucas, please!’ angel Harry pleaded, tears glistening in his eyes. ‘Forget about me. Forget about the service. You owe it to yourself to hang on. You owe it to yourself to _come home_! If you do what he is suggesting, then everything you’ve suffered will have been for naught.’

“But at least it will be over,” the devil on Lucas’s shoulder said, and now it spoke with his own voice.Lucas heard the plaintive words echo in the darkness of his cell and realized he had spoken aloud.

_To whom?_

Maybe he was becoming delirious. Despite the utter lack of activity, he felt exhausted. Even suspended in darkness, he still tried to work out whenever he could, as it was one of very few ways to kill time. So physical strain added to mental exhaustion, caused by hunger, darkness, and fear, leaving him dead beat.

Right now, he could not have done as much as a single sit-up. The cold seeping into him from the concrete he stretched out on paralyzed him. Shivers coursed through his body and involuntary tears trickled down his cheek and into his beard. It tickled, but he could not even be bothered to reach up and brush the salty drops away.

In vain, Lucas tried to shift into a more comfortable position so he rolled back onto his side, and resumed watching the door. It did not take long until his eyes slid shut and he started as he felt how sleep was trying to take over.

_Not that tired._

In order to keep at least his mind busy, he began to set up a game of imaginary chess. Sometimes, he got actually lost in those games and could not even tell for how long he had played.

Not that it mattered.

In his mind’s eye, he placed the pieces onto the board with its eight-by-eight grid. A smile flit across his features at the thought as he put king Harry, knight Tom, and bishop Malcolm onto his side of the board. From the other side, Arkady Kachimov glowered at his opponent. Right beside the sturdy Russian stood his queen, amajornamedGeorgieva…

At seeing her, Lucas’s thoughts derailed and the picture of the chess game flickered. Usually, he enjoyed the strategic game, often extending it from actual chess to plans and counterplans for when he returned to England, but seeing the cause of his worst nightmares made the scene dissolve.

_Will I ever get home? Arkady? Where are you? Why didn’t you come back?_

It seemed less and less likely. Maybe devil Harry was right. Maybe they had given up on him. Maybe this was not another torture designed to make him compliant but a sign that nobody cared.

_Maybe they forgot me here._

Food also came less frequently. In fact it had been so long since he was fed that his stomach had stopped grumbling. There just was an emptiness inside him that seemed to eat him up from the inside out.

Suddenly he started.

Staring at the thin line at the bottom of the door, his heart-rate soared. There were two shadows. Someone was outside and he had been too deep in thought to hear them coming!

_Who?_

Lucas could hear the shuffling of feet and then the door was unlocked. Even though he did not know the names of all the guards, he would have been able to tell how badly he was in trouble if he would have paid better attention.

The corridor outside was dimly lit. In the twilight, Lucas could not see more than two shapes moving toward him. They took hold of his arms and jerked him to his feet. The sack that they pulled over his head smelled musty, and despite his feeble struggles, they dragged him forward.

“Oleg?”

Beneath the hood, Lucas grimaced at how anxious he sounded.

_What’s going on? Where are they taking me?_

His bare feet told him that he was moving on concrete. They manoeuvred him around several corners before he heard another door being unlocked. It screeched in its hinges as it opened and Lucas was directed through. A gust of wind hit him just a second before his soles touched gravel and, after a few steps, mud.

_What the hell is happening?_

His heart was into his throat, beating wildly. On the rare occasions that Oleg took him out for a walk, he was allowed shoes and given a coat to protect him from the chilly breezes blowing out in the marshland surrounding Lushanka. So that could not be it. The soil he felt became a bit firmer and there was grass as well. When they stopped, they pulled the sack off his head and Lucas squinted in the sudden brightness.

“Kopai!”the guard standing in front of him demanded, pushing something into his hands.

Lucas could not clearly see yet, but guessed that it was the haft of a shovel.

“Davei!” another guard shouted, emphasizing his command with a shove between Lucas’s shoulder blades.

_Fuck! Belyakov!_

Panic gripped Lucas when he realized that the senior guard was behind this. And _this_ definitely gave Lucas the creeps.

Tightly his hands closed around the wooden grip as he made a hesitant step forward. The scene around him still was too bright when he drove the shovel into the soil. Even as he broke ground, he could tell that this would take forever.

In situations like this, it paid off that he worked out regularly. Even though he looked, and was, emaciated he still maintained well-trained muscle mass. Still, digging a hole into the cold Russian earth was hard work that soon slowed him down. Despite the cold, sweat glistened on his skin from the exertion and the sun warming his bare back. Thirst made his tongue furry and he had to pause.

“Dalshe, dalshe!”one of the guards prodded, gesturing at him with his gun.

“Pit mozhno?”Lucas asked for a drink, expecting Belyakov to deny it to him. Accordingly surprised, he took the water bottle a young guard offered him. Of course, he did his best not to show his astonishment. Gratefully, he took a few mouthfuls before he tried to return the bottle. When the guard did not take it back, Lucas set it down on the grass.

As he worked, Lucas could feel how the guards watched him, and it was not the way they watched over an inmate. They were gloating. Most of all Belyakov who had loathed his hide from the start.

Lucas wracked his mind about why they would get rid of him so unceremoniously. So suddenly as well. So devil Harry _was_ right after all. Lucas had not thought that it could be true. Judging by Oleg’s efforts to gain information, he tended to believe that they were as interested in him as ever.

_Then why am I digging a grave now?_

Concentrating on his work kept his anxiety at bay, but with every load of soil that he threw onto a heap beside the hole the knots tying up his insides became tighter and harder. When a guard ordered him to stop and climb out, his stomach throbbed and his heart skipped a beat.

_Don’t! Don’t let it end here! Not like this!_

Lucas had to bite the inside of his cheek to focus on the physical pain rather than the emotional hurt. Tears burnt in his eyes.

‘At least it will be over,’ devil Harry whispered into his ear.

_No!_

Lucas failed to believe it and yet anxiety and doubts tried to get the better of him.

_I’ve accepted Arkady’s offer for God’s sake! You’re making a mistake! Maybe I should’ve given Oleg minor information that would lead to dead ends by now but would’ve kept them busy for a while verifying them. Where are they anyway? Where’s Arkady? Where’s Oleg?_

Neither of his main interrogators was present. Another hint that this could not be for real, unless they had given up and just ordered the guards to get rid of him.

_Something Belyakov’s only too happy to execute, just not without torturing me some more._

Noticing movement, Lucas looked around and saw two more guards approach, dragging a limp body along. They dropped it beside the hole and rolled the remains in. One of the men snickered.

Lucas stared down at the dead man at his bare feet and could not believe how lucky he was that it was not him this time who lay in the shallow grave. He was so happy about having escaped this fate once more that he did not notice the guards stepping up on both his sides. Only when they took his arms and shoulders and forced him to his knees did he realize that he had been mistaken.

_No!_

Inwardly he screamed while he remained composed on the outside. What good would screaming do? None at all.

Closing his eyes to block out the sight of the body right in front of him, Lucas knelt upright, lifting his chin stubbornly. Deeply he breathed in. It had been so long since he was allowed outside that even filling his lungs with fresh air was a luxury that felt like bliss. The sun was still shining warmly on his marked skin.

_At least I won’t die in my cell._

With the knowledge that this would be the end his fear changed to calm…

…and yet he almost wetted himself when the muzzle of a gun was pushed against the back of his neck.

 

tbc…

 

kopai = dig

davai = c’mon

dalshe, dalshe = Keep working. literally ‘further’

pit mozhno = may I drink


	10. Devil in disguise

 

_Click._

The sound sent shivers down Lucas’s spine and the breath he had been holding exploded out of him. Behind him, Belyakov laughed wickedly. The men whispered to each other, which made it impossible for Lucas to understand what they were saying.

Then Lucas heard the cylinder roll.

_God, they’re playing Russian roulette!_

Once more, the senior guard pressed the barrel against his skin. Was he running out of luck this time?

_Click._

Yet again, the firing pin fell onto an empty chamber, but this time Lucas could not help but jump and his eyes flew open. The first thing he saw was the male corpse in the grave and bile rose in his throat. In vain, he tried to fight the panic down now and a shudder coursed through his body. His breathing accelerated.

The cylinder rolled.

The muzzle pushed against the back of his neck and this time, he could not just kneel and take it. Reflexively, he leaned sideways and scooted slightly backwards. At once, the guards grabbed his arms harder, holding him in place and the barrel once more pressed against his head.

Lucas closed his eyes

Hearing approaching steps made Lucas tense. Still he did not dare to look around. Caring about who just arrived might be a mistake. Instead, he listened intently, but the grass muffled the footsteps beyond recognition.

_I don’t think anyone but Oleg could stop Belyakov. Not much to hear. C’mon! Say something!_

The sounds still were ambiguous and Lucas strained his ears in order to catch everything. Then the gun was opened and the cylinder rolled another time.

Someone harrumphed.

_Yeah, that could be Oleg, and he doesn’t sound happy._

It was all Lucas could do to avoid a smile. Inwardly he cheered for the newcomer who put the other men in their places and he slowly opened his eyes to try and furtively look around. The unmistakable sound of a cartridge being inserted, the gun snapping shut, and the cylinder rolling made Lucas’s blood run cold anew. He stiffened.

_Am I mistaken agai…?_

Before he could finish his thought, a shot exploding next to his ear almost deafened him. The grip on his right arm vanished, but he did not dare to look. Due to the ringing in his ears, Lucas did not hear the thump of a body hitting the ground. Another harrumph.

“Durak,” someone spat and now Lucas was certain that it was Darshavin. Then the body of a guard rolled into the grave, slumping over the other corpse.

_Oh, shit!_

Shudders shook Lucas’s body and he was breathing hard at the unexpected turn of events. The emotional tides left him exhausted and he could hardly comprehend now what happened. He also could not comprehend why he was suddenly shaking uncontrollably and choking. All he brought up was bile that burned in his throat. Gasping for breath, he tried to regain control, only to start when hands alighted on his shoulders.

“Get up.”

The interrogator’s harsh voice sounded familiar, but altered, as if its owner was making a real effort not to frighten him more. Despite his best intentions, though, Lucas could not make his body comply.

“It is over,” Darshavin’s tone softened, became cajoling. “Get up, Lucas.” The hands slid down to his upper arms and tightened their grasp, gently urging, “Come on.”

Unsteadily, Lucas stood and let himself be nudged forward. As the adrenaline ebbed away, he felt his knees go weak and he stumbled. Strong arms caught his potential fall and he leaned against his rescuer’s side. His emotional uproar left him exhausted once more and he had to fight to move. Despite his mortification, he was infinitely grateful to Oleg Darshavin, even though he would never tell him so. The Chief FSB Interrogation Officer was the cause of many of Lucas’s waking nightmares after all… and haunted him in his dreams as well. Right now, Darshavin led Lucas back into the building and down a corridor from where they entered what turned out to be a bathroom. Surprised, Lucas hesitated to do anything.

“Take a shower,” Darshavin amiably told him. “You are muddy.”

Lucas reached for the cord holding his track pants but his hands shook so much with the cold and exhaustion that he could not loosen the drawstring. Only to himself he admitted that a good bit of terror also came into the mix. His cheeks glowed with shame as he watched Darshavin’s dirty fingernails delicately pick apart the knot. As it could hardly get any worse, he let him help remove his trousers. Darshavin gave them to a guard who stood by the door.

Naked now, Lucas stood in the middle of the room and could not make himself step into the shower.

“It is okay, Lucas,” his interrogator told him, almost gently propelling him to the left one of three showers along the wall. “You must be cold. The days are getting warmer, but it’s still chilly. Add the shock… Come on.”

Another nudge persuaded Lucas to comply. When he had trouble with the water tap, Darshavin reached out to help again.

“I am sorry, Lucas,” he said, his chapped hand resting on the tap. As a result, he trapped Lucas in the corner. “When I heard them discuss about who should do the digging, I told them that you could do with some fresh air. They were not supposed to scare you.”

“Oh, really?” Lucas mumbled at the wall, but Darshavin heard him anyway.

“Yes, really.”

Lucas did not feel compelled to believe him.

_Supposed to or not, Belyakov surely enjoyed it._

Mock executions often were part of intensive interrogation and it was more likely than not that the men acted on Darshavin’s orders.

_Does it matter? Either way they did a good job._

His attempts to steady his hands failed and he still felt shudders course through him all the same. He heard how Darshavin turned the tap, but still Lucas started when the water rained down on his skin. It felt so strange… and hot. At first, the steady stream seemed to scorch his skin as his body was so cool. Only slowly, he began to warm up again.

_I hope I won’t get sick._

The thought terrified him. His incarceration was bad enough as it was already.

As he shifted his weight, he felt his muscles ache. His feet and lower legs were sore from finding and providing the best stand for digging. Especially his left ankle was hurting. Lucas suspected that it would get worse over the next days. He would have to work out in order to ease his aching muscles.

And it was not just that. His right foot burned and when he looked down, he saw a thin trail of red running into the drain.

_Shit!_

Gritting his teeth, Lucas tried to ignore it, but anxiety already knotted up his insides again. Even a tiny wound, if left untreated, could lead to infection, and his last tetanus jab was long out of date. Did they still have enough interest in him to grant him the privilege of medical care?

_After their extended sessions, they had to send me to the hospital ward in order to get me back in shape for further interrogations. So they’d do it again, right?_

Another shudder coursed through him as he still was cold.

_How long will Oleg allow me this luxury?_

Every now and then, he shifted his position uneasily, still on edge from the cruel joke Belyakov had played on him. He would have loved to curl up here under the hot stream and not move away for the next several hours. Knowing that that would not happen, he enjoyed every second of his unexpected treat.

“Lucas?” Darshavin interrupted.

When Lucas turned to him, he saw him hold up a bottle of shampoo and as he held out his hand, Darshavin squeezed a dollop onto his palm. Gratefully, Lucas worked it into his grimy hair. It had been ages since he last could take a shower. In his cell, he lacked as much as a washing bowl and he hated how filthy he became. Massaging a bit of the foam into his beard as well, he decided that asking would not hurt.

“How about a shave?”

“Not this time,” came the immediate, almost regretful reply.

 _I guessed as much,_ Lucas thought ruefully and washed the foam out. _The shower will be over soon as well._

‘He’s just giving you a false sense of security,’ devil Harry whispered.

‘You think allowing him to shower is a trick?’ angel Harry hissed at his counterpart. ‘What would he gain out of it other than a clean captive?’

‘His trust,’ devil Harry snarled, poking with his fork.

_Don’t worry. I don’t trust Oleg as far as I can throw him._

Devil Harry snorted derisively. ‘You’re calling him Oleg!’

‘Well, he’s got to call him _something_!’ angel Harry complained.

‘Oh, I could offer you a couple of better fitting names.’

‘Which he can’t use without getting himself into trouble, you sulphur-stinking, armour-tailed twat!’

‘Are you _sure_ you’re the angel?’ devil Harry teased.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Lucas’s mouth and he lowered his head to hide it from view, but Darshavin had already noticed it.

“What is so funny?” he asked conversationally.

“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head. “Just a last surge of adrenalin.”

Darshavin nodded. “You should get finished.”

Right, Lucas expected as much. Once more he turned under the steady stream, relishing the last seconds, then he turned it off and accepted the bath towel Darshavin gave him. Toward the end of his shower his muscles began to relax, but as he dried himself off now, he noticed again how sore he was. Reaching his right foot, he winced as it still burned.

“What is wrong?” Darshavin’s tone was solicitous, almost as if he actually cared.

“A small cut,” Lucas explained. “I must’ve stepped on something sharp.”

Holding out new trousers to his captive, the interrogator demanded, “Let me see.”

Lucas accepted the trousers and slipped them on. They were not new, rather worn to be exact, but they were clean. He sat down on a bench and lifted his foot onto his left thigh. Darshavin examined it closely before he ordered the guard at the door to go and get a med kit. Once more Lucas felt grateful.

‘Be careful,’ angel Harry murmured which made Lucas smile furtively again.

“A penny,” Darshavin offered affably.

“What?” Lucas absently replied.

“Is that not what you say, _a penny for your thoughts_?”

“That’s the correct idiom, yes,” Lucas told him guardedly.

“I would like to know what is on your mind,” Darshavin prodded.

“Nothing of interest.”

“It seems to amuse you,” the interrogator kept pushing.

Lucas did not intend to fall for the blunt attempt, but he had to offer him an explanation and the only thing he could come up with right now was, “I recalled a moment with Elizaveta.”

At the same moment that the words left his mouth, Lucas felt a sharp pang as exactly those memories returned to him. They had been working in the garden behind the house they just bought and were both dirty from digging around. Once their work was done, they had shared a shower that was heated from more than just the warmth of the water. Afterwards they towelled each other off and went to bed early to pick up where they left off in the shower. It had been a rare moment of _normal_ life that Lucas knew to relish even more knowing how special that was for a spook.

“Fond memories then.”

“Yes,” Lucas answered flatly.

“Do you believe she is still thinking of you?”

Once more, a sharp pang hit Lucas’s insides as Darshavin voiced what he had so often wondered about in the loneliness of his cell.

“I’d like to think so,” he murmured, hoping but knowing all the same that it was unlikely.

“She has not tried to contact you.”

The statement was another blow to Lucas’s system.

“She has forgotten about you.”

It stung. Lucas could not deny that. Still he did not bow to the interrogator’s attempt to demoralize him.

“I don’t think she did,” he told him. “But I could understand it if she decided to move on.” Somehow, the words sounded hollow to his own ears.

“She did not write once.”

At that a crooked smirk split Lucas’s features and he challenged, “And if she did, would you have given me her letter?”

He looked Darshavin right in the eyes as he asked his question and it became painfully obvious to him that the other man had not expected to be put on the spot. _Arkady would’ve come back with an indignant ‘Of course! What do you think of me?’_ The moment passed, though, and Darshavin remained silent. As it was, he even threatened to lose their staring duel but the guard returning with the first aid kit interrupted them. Without a word, Darshavin took the necessary items and tended to Lucas’s foot. His calloused hands were rough against Lucas’s bare sole and scratched rather than tickled. A sharp hiss escaped Lucas when Darshavin applied disinfectant to the cut. His captor looked up at him with a broad grin, showing stained and crooked teeth before he returned to treating the wound.

 _Guess my reaction amused him. Well, it_ is _kind of amusing. I lived through horrendous tortures after all._

“Well…” Darshavin said as he put the disinfectant down, “aside from the prank… did you enjoy your time outside?”

“The fresh air was very much appreciated,” Lucas replied. _The details of the activity not so much._

“Maybe I can arrange another outing,” Darshavin suggested as he began to wrap dressing around Lucas’s foot. “I have seen cranes out in the marshes. They’re brooding here. Too bad you don’t get to see them with their hatchlings. They’re too shy.”

 _Oh, really? I wouldn’t show my kid to you either,_ Lucas thought bitterly, and managed to give an indifferent shrug.

“I would have expected a bit more enthusiasm,” Darshavin teased. “Or are you worried about your foot?” He eased it off the thigh and Lucas set it down. “No? That would hardly keep you from a good long walk, right?”

 _What do you expect me to do? Beg for an excursion?_ Even though he yearned to get out of these walls, begging would be the last thing he did. The prospect of a walk alone was like a reward, though, and Lucas did not want to jeopardize it.

“Oh, come on,” Darshavin prodded. “It may not be the wild Yorkshire moors of the Bronte novels, but I thought you loved our walking-tours. Remember how you discovered the great bustard?”

“Yes.”

_And vividly so. Wish it would’ve been big enough to carry me away from here… or me small enough to ride on its back like Nils Holgersson did. Is that why you’re telling me about watching cranes, Oleg? To make me more miserable about being caged here?_

“Would you like going bird watching again, Lucas?” Darshavin prodded coyly.

“Sure,” he agreed lightly. “Why not? I don’t have other plans.” _Are you trying to hint at more than just a walk?_ Lucas wondered as he was reminded of how Dasharvin had once told him that maybe they would be watching birds at the Thames estuary one day. Did he want to imply a possible return to England? _If you were, it was a clumsy attempt._

“Oh, really?” Darshavin tried to sound surprised. “Do you not plan to return home anymore?”

_Very clumsy, indeed._

“It can be hard to recognize sarcasm in one’s second language,” he replied, keeping his tone perfectly level, betraying nothing.

“I recognized your sarcasm easily enough, Lucas,” Darshavin told him with an air of superiority. “You know I am an enthusiastof British literature. I prefer reading those books in their original language and the works of Anthony Trollope are full of sarcasm. Are you familiar with Trollope, Lucas?”

“No,” he lied. _But if I were, I’d bloody well know the difference between satire and sarcasm, you oaf!_

‘Careful,’ angel Harry warned him. ‘You don’t want him to see you angry.’

‘Oh, heavens no!’ devil Harry astonishingly agreed for once, then added, ‘He might actually need a reason to torture you some day.’ Then, blinking at angel Harry he asked, ‘Sorry? Was that sarcasm or satire?’

Lucas literally had to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at their banter. _Pipe down, you two, or you’re liable to get me in trouble._

Once more, he saw Darshavin smirk and realized that he actually was trying to imitate Kachimov. He was trying to be gentle, clever, and suave. Those traits, though, were nothing that Lucas would attribute to him. _No matter how hard you try, you never will be like Arkady. You lack finesse._ Just for a second he felt sorry for the other man. _You can read as much as you like, educate and refine yourself… you’re still always going to be a barbarian. Arkady’s placidness is a gift you don’t possess. You’re a peasant… and will never be anything else._

Arkady Kachimov, though a skilled and persistent interrogator, was the only person he had met in this hell hole whom Lucas thought of as a good conversation partner. They would spend hours talking about all the world and his brother before Kachimov subtly directed the conversation to the questions he wanted to get answered. More than once Lucas had been close to getting caught in the verbal traps. Yes, with Kachimov he had to be attentive and careful.

“You should read _Doctor Thorne_ , Lucas,” Darshavin chummily advised. “I will lend you my copy.”

 _Oh, yeah. That’ll be really useful when there’s no bloody_ light _in my cell!_ Even though he remained calm on the outside, Lucas could have exploded and screamed with suppressed rage.

“Well,” Darshavin said as he rose to his feet. “Time to go.”

Lucas stood.

Darshavin gestured him to go ahead and follow the lead of the two guards by the door. Lucas complied readily. What else was there to do? Nothing.

Upon reaching his cell, Lucas cast a look at his interrogator. He would not mind being questioned for another couple of hours. At least he would not be alone.

No such luck. Darshavin opened the cell and shoved him in. The door closed with a metallic clonk and Lucas was once more plunged in darkness.

 

tbc…

 

durak = fool/moron


	11. Vegetative state

Surprised, Lucas looked up when the door to his cell opened not long after Darshavin had taken him back there. Something was thrown in and the cell locked again. Curiously, Lucas stared into the dark.

_A trick? No, don’t think so._

Slowly, he got up and padded over to the door. His feet found the bundle first and he bent to pick up what turned out to be clothes. Happily, he pulled the sweater over his head and felt something fall. Pushing first one arm into the sleeve, then the other, he bent down in search for what he lost.

_Socks!_

He took them to the cot and sat down to slip them on. Leaning with his back against the wall, he pulled up his legs in a tailor seat. Taking a deep breath, he released the air slowly.

_What’s Oleg up to?_

Anxiety knotted up his insides. There had to be a snag in it. They did not suddenly provide him with clothes out of the goodness of their hearts.

Slowly, he started to warm up a little.

 _Give me a blanket and I might actually feel comfortable,_ Lucas inwardly chuckled. _That would be too much to ask for, right?_

Despite his new clothes, he shivered and he imploringly hoped that he did not get sick.

 

xXx

 

Coughing, Lucas lay on the cot, trying to draw as much warmth out of the two blankets Darshavin had given to him as possible. Neither hoping nor praying had prevented him from catching a cold and he feared that it would not get better with as little care as he received.

The lights switched on. Since they noticed that he was sick, they stuck with a routine again. In a few minutes, a guard would come with light food and tea.

Lucas did not feel like eating, though. It was rather likely that it returned faster than he could swallow it in the first place. Drinking was more important anyway and he appreciated the hot tea.

When the door opened it was Darshavin himself who brought in the tray. He put it onto thechair and sat down on the edge of the cot. His features darkened when he felt Lucas’s forehead.

Despite the seriousness of his situation, his interrogator’s concern amused Lucas.

_Guess you’re more worried about yourself, right? Wouldn’t it be a pity if you ruined Arkady’s work by letting me die? Well, what are you gonna do now? You’ll have to do more than just add tea and blankets to keep me healthy._

Right now, he felt quite sorry for himself. _As much as I liked the time outside, even if it was digging a grave, I don’t like how it backfired._

_Would you even care if I wasn’t Arkady’s pet project?_

Once more, a series of coughs shook his body. As he calmed down, he felt a hand on his forehead again, the thumb moving soothingly along his hairline.

 _Don’t!_ he inwardly spat and had to cough again.

Too exhausted to care, Lucas allowed Darshavin to help him drink some tea. It soothed his dry throat and he eagerly gulped down the rest. He dimly was aware that Darshavin yelled at a guard.

 _If I get pneumonia and die I’m going to come back and haunt you to death,_ Lucas thought miserably as he sank back down. Darshavin shifted closer and he did not mind because his presence offered extra warmth. Confused, he noticed how his captor rubbed calming circles on his back.

A guard came in with more tea, a thin mattress and more blankets. Darshavin urged Lucas to get up and steadied him on the chair while he prepared the cot. Then he guided Lucas back down under the covers.

Soon Lucas became comfortably warm, the tea helped against the coughing, and he did not care anymore about the weirdness of Darshavin mothering him. A moment later, he was fast asleep.

 

xXx

 

As soon as Lucas had recovered the blankets and mattress were taken from him. Once more, he had to live in darkness. Working out and playing imaginary chess were the only activities he had to entertain himself. Angel Harry and devil Harry were his sole company.

_Isn’t that a sign that I’m finally going mad as a hatter?_

‘Don’t worry too much,’ devil Harry said. ‘It wasn’t such a long trip.’

‘What are you talking about?’ angel Harry frayed. ‘He’s no more insane than you are! He may have paranoia, but that comes with the job!’

‘Not what I’m talking about,’ devil Harry hissed, smoke puffing and sparks spraying as he thumped his fork on the floor. ‘He should’ve known what would happen before he came to Russia!’

“How should I have known?” Lucas groaned.

‘You’re a spook!’ devil Harry pointed out with mock indignation. ‘What do you think happens to spooks when they’re caught spying?’

“I shouldn’t have been caught at all,” Lucas hissed back. “My cover was safe. No idea how it blew. There was no indication that the operation was in danger either or Harry would’ve burnt it.”

‘Traitor,’ devil Harry taunted. ‘Someone’s betrayed you to the Russians, said, here you’ve got him, do whatever you fancy.’

It stung.

Once more, Lucas lay on the floor, watching the slit of light at the bottom of the door. He noticed movement a moment before he heard the flap being opened. Something was pushed through but he did not bother to move at once.

_It doesn’t smell like food._

‘Does it surprise you?’ devil Harry teased. ‘You haven’t got food for days now.’

_It’s not been days._

‘Well, feels like weeks, actually.’

_What do you care? You don’t need food._

‘But you do and believe it or not, I do care about you.’

_Thanks. At least someone does._

‘I do, too!’ angel Harry complained. ‘Are you going to check what they brought you?’

Finally, Lucas moved to where the thing must be. Sliding his hand over the concrete, he searched for whatever it was. When his fingers touched it, he started.

 _Oh, no…_ he inwardly groaned as he felt the item and realized that it was a book. _Very funny._

‘It doesn’t happen to be in Braille?’ devil Harry teased, making Lucas wish he could slap him.

 

xXx

 

_How long now?_

Lucas had absolutely no idea how much time he had spent in darkness now. As he was not fed regularly, he could not measure the time by counting the meals. Darshavin did not come to interrogate him once and he did not get any other visitor either. Lately, he thought of Elizavieta more often, which was a welcome distraction from his strange conversations with angel Harry and devil Harry. And he had found another way to entertain himself.

He read.

At first, Lucas had thought that the book they gave him was utterly useless, but he figured out how he could use what little light fell in through the gap under the door to read it. Of course, it was neither easy nor comfortable, but it made the time pass. It did not matter that he knew the book already. Lucas just was glad that he had something to keep his mind busy.

 _Doctor Thorne_ was the novel Darshavin had mentioned when he had tried to imitate Kachimov’s technique and advised Lucas to read it occasionally, teasingly offering to lend him his copy.

_Which he did._

Lucas had seen Darshavin’s name scrawled on the inside of the back cover.

 _Owning a book like this doesn’t turn you into a cultivated man,_ Lucas thought as he turned the page. _You might be well-read and educated, but you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear._ A smirk cracked his features. _I wonder if you know that idiom._

Lying on the floor with his back to the door was not the best position. Lucas had to listen carefully when someone was outside in order to avoid getting the metal door shoved into his back.

Everything was silent, so Lucas relaxed for a moment, stretching out and resting his head on his upper arm. He was tired, but his grumbling stomach kept him awake.

‘Do you think Kachimov would kill Oleg if he starves you to death?’ angel Harry wondered.

‘Are you talking to me or Lucas?’ devil Harry asked.

‘Both of you,’ the little angel snickered, bopping up and down on his cloud. Blowing a mock kiss at the devil he prodded, ‘What do _you_ think?’

‘That I won’t have to wait long for the pathetic bootlickerif he loses Lucas rather than breaking him,’ devil Harry declared

‘That’s what I thought,’ angel Harry agreed with hardly angelic glee, rubbing his hands together.

Lucas smirked at their antics, but just for a moment. Grave concern gnawed at him when he thought about how damaged he might be if he was creating little invisible friends.

_Though it can’t be too bad as long as I’m worrying about it, right?_

‘No, definitely not,’ devil Harry said, patting his shoulder. ‘We’re just a distr-.”

“Shut up!” Lucas hissed

‘Right, don’t listen to…’

“You, too!” Lucas snapped at angel Harry. “Shut the hell up!”

Both Harrys looked at each other with concern before they vanished, devil Harry with a little puff and angel Harry with a musical chord from his harp.

Lucas sighed.

_Now what am I going to do?_

Even after years of incarceration his yearning to get out of these walls was stronger than ever before. It hurt him almost physically and if he had had a spoon he might have tried to dig himself out.

_God, that’s hard enough with a real shovel. I need a distraction. Just what?_

One possibility could be playing another game of imaginary chess. Ever since his subconscious placed Major Georgieva onto the grid, though, he found it hard to concentrate on chess.

 _I could get back to Doctor Thorne,_ Lucas thought and shifted his position in order to search for the line where he had left off. The letters were a bit hard to decipher which put him off reading. He was tired of it. Aside from that, hunger gnawed at his insides as well as his psyche.

Snapping the book shut, he pushed himself up and went over to the cot where he dropped the book. Putting his hands against the tiled wall, he began to do press-ups. As he did the second one, he considered changing his position. Turning, he knelt down to continue his workout on the floor. He hoped that it would help him focus…

…on not feeling hungry.

 _Not that it helps,_ he thought as he pushed himself up for the third time. _C’mon! One more!_

One at a time.

And another.

And another.

Counting twelve filled Lucas with fresh determination and he dove into the next press-up, ignoring the way his muscles started to burn. He began to sweat despite the cold and his breathing became heavier.

_Fifteen!_

All his resolve could not hide the fact that he was weakened by food deprivation. Only his anger about being confined to this cell, in darkness, with no human contact for days up to weeks on end, kept him going.

_Eighteen!_

_Nineteen!_

_Twenty!_

Panting, he paused.

 _C’mon, Lucas North,_ he cheered for himself. _You can make two dozen!_

   Lucas was fighting, he really was. Twenty two press-ups and he felt his arms quiver. Misery and shame burnt in his heart. Once more, he lowered himself down and was upset by how hard it became to hold his weight above ground.

He was not willing to give up.

He knew he could make it.

He had to.

Gritting his teeth, Lucas pushed with all his might and managed to press up a twenty-third time before he had to admit defeat and collapsed to the ground. Tears of frustration burnt in his eyes about being reduced to this helpless mess. He simply lacked the strength that he would have if he had eaten.

Rolling onto his back, he groaned with suppressed distress. His fists thumped the floor and he was breathing hard. Lucas did not want to yield to his despair but felt that he was losing the fight. He was so desperately alone. Neither memories of his wife nor his silly self-conversations could fill the emptiness. A book was no replacement for conversation, working out no substitute for purpose.

Soundlessly his lips formed a shuddering plea, _Oleg, where are you?_

No response.

Nobody commented on his display of weakness.

A scream tore off his lips.

It died away unheard.

 

tbc…


	12. Anniversary

**August 26, 2007**

**Lushanka interrogation camp**

 

Once more, Lucas lay on the cold concrete floor right behind the door to read, but he could hardly concentrate on the words. When he caught himself reading the same line for the fourth time, he paused.

_I could try and consume the book literally. I’m hungry enough for it._

Staring at the pages, he seriously considered how they might taste as lettuce.

With a sigh, he rested his head on his upper arm. The scarce light falling in below the door could not light much, but it was enough to decipher the text.

A smile tugged on his lips. The situation reminded him of how he had read by flashlight in his room well after midnight when he was a boy. Hidden under the blankets, he had devoured everything from Enid Blyton’s _Famous Five_ and thriller novels by Robert Ludlum to classics from Charles Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson. Later, he also snuck in erotic magazines that he borrowed from his friends at school. Thankfully, his minister father never caught him with those. Getting caught reading already was unpleasant to say the least. His father never said anything, just confiscated the book and the torch and switched out the light. On the following day, Lucas’s usual list of chores he was expected to do at home doubled. He always got the books back when his chores were through, but never the torches.

His heart clenched with the memory.

_Back then I would never have thought that I’d live to see adventures like those I enjoyed in my books._

A sigh escaped him.

_Though I wouldn’t call vegetating in a Russian cell an adventure._

Lucas recalled quite a number of titles. _Treasure Island_ was among them and _Moby Dick_ , _Robinson_ _Crusoe_ and _The_ _Three_ _Musketeers_. _The_ _Time_ _Machine_ , _1984_ and _Lord_ _of_ _the_ _Flies_ were among his favourites as well. There were so many that he could not count them. He had a whole library at home, stacked in double rows on the shelves. Sometimes his friends said he was a bit geeky because he read so much.

_I wonder what Dad did with all those torches._

Delving into his memories, he did not pay attention to his surroundings and missed the steps approaching his cell. As a result, he was startled out of his musings by the door being unlocked. Shocked, he tried to scramble to his feet. As he was not fast enough, the door was shoved into his back. He dropped the book and stumbled against the wall.

They descended upon him rapidly, grabbing his arms and pulling him with them. The light in the hallway hurt his eyes that were used to darkness now. Grimacing, he blinked a few times before he squinted against the sudden brightness. He wanted to know where they were dragging him.

It was not that he struggled, but when they had grabbed him, he tensed and as he could not see much yet, they had to steer him in the right direction.

Lucas heard how they pushed another door open and the men holding him propelled him forward. His left wrist hit the doorframe and he stumbled against the opposite wall. His hands touched tiles before they pulled him backwards again and roughly stripped him of his track pants.

_Where have they taken me?_

Everything happened so quickly that Lucas was hit totally by surprise, when the guards stepped back and a cold stream of water hit him.

Shocked, Lucas cried out. His attempts to protect himself were futile. They hosed him down and dragged him a few steps aside where they fiercely rubbed him off with towels. Two men forced him onto a chair and held him while a third unceremoniously shaved him.

They were finished in a matter of minutes. Lucas got his pants back and put them on. Then he was dragged out of the _bathroom_ and further down the hall. From there he was forced through yet another door. They pushed so hard that he dropped to the ground.

That was when the smells hit his nose.

Delicious smells.

_Food!_

Twisting around, he got up to hands and knees. Raising his gaze, he saw several plates laid out on the floor, among them a bowl filled with fruit.

Being starved as he was, he did not waste a thought about his environs and crawled forward, reaching out for a piece of meat. He hardly chewed it before he picked up strawberries and shoved them into his mouth. Fleetingly he wondered what time in the year it was and how they got strawberries.

It never crossed his mind that he should have wondered why they gave them to him.

For a blissful moment, Lucas feasted on the rare treats.

Gently a hand brushed over his hair, running to the back of his head and coming to rest against the left side of his neck.

Lucas froze.

The fingers ran along his neck to his chin, lifting his head. Looking up, he stared right at the brown eyes of Oleg Darshavin.

_Shit!_

Lucas knew he was in trouble, he just did not know exactly why. Did his interrogator notice that he could actually read the book he was given? He could not think of anything else he might have done wrong. That would require that he _had_ something to do in the first place, though, which was not the case with him being locked up alone in darkness.

Confusion filled Lucas as he realized that Darshavin looked at him full of compassion and tenderness. His grip was not cruel either. Instead his fingers rested against his skin, applying just enough pressure to lift his chin. Caressingly, his thumb moved over his cheekbone.

Lucas felt his cheeks warm with a blush. He never knew how to respond in these moments when Darshavin seemed to show him some bizarre sort of affection.

So bizarre that it made Lucas’s stomach roll.

In vain, he tried not to let himself be affected by Darshavin’s treatment. His torturer smirked and reached out with his other hand as well to caress Lucas like he was a pet. The sensation was intensified by the fact that he still crouched in front of Darshavin on his fours. Shivers of aversion coursed through him. He felt his bottom lip tremble and bit on it.

  ‘Affection?’ devil Harry snorted. ‘What do you mean _affection_? Maybe if being his favourite dog to beat is affection!’

  ‘It’s called Stockholm syndrome, you dolt!’ angel Harry told him.

  _It isn’t just my imagination_ , Lucas thought to himself, carefully avoiding engaging the two Harrys, even silently. _It is affection, a very cruel and abusive affection, but_ _Oleg_ _does care, in his own sick, twisted way, and, God help me, that makes it almost bearable._

Almost being the keyword.

Even after years of being treated like an animal, Lucas still felt the humiliation burn in every fibre of his body. The abuse never was nor would it ever be bearable.

Darshavin’s smirk softened as he patted Lucas’s cheek before he sat back, leaning against the wall.

“Happy anniversary, Lucas.”

All Lucas could do was stare at his captor.

_That’s eight then. Eight years in hell._

Once more his stomach rolled unpleasantly. With mental agony? With anger? With repulsion? Maybe it was just the hunger.

Pushing himself up, he sat back on his haunches and his gaze fell on the buffet laid out on the floor.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Darshavin replied.

Lucas felt a chill run down his spine as he heard how his interrogator tried to imitate Kachimov’s lilting tone.

_Where the hell is Arkady? Why didn’t he come back? I should be on my way back home already, right? Did he even make any arrangements for my return? Did he even tell anyone? Was his plan denied? Why am I still here?_

Deciding that it could not hurt to ask, Lucas said, “Have you heard from Arkady lately?”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Darshavin nonchalantly told him. “Tovarisch Kachimov was very sorry about having to turn down my invitation. He’s very busy.”

At first, Lucas was surprised to get this answer, but then he wondered if Kachimov was working on his own case.

“In London,” Darshavin added, almost as an afterthought.

Even knowing his every twitch was being monitored, Lucas could not completely control his horrified reaction to the news. With Arkady in London, what was to become of him in this place?

‘He’s abandoned you!’ devil Harry sneered on one shoulder.

‘Or perhaps he’s just getting things in order before he takes you home,’ angel Harry whispered in his other ear.

“Why don’t you eat, Lucas?” Darshavin wanted to know, failing to sound cheerful. “It’s your anniversary! Enjoy the party!”

_Yeah, why?_

Even the soul-crushing heartbreak of being abandoned in Lushanka could not override his body’s instinct for survival. Lucas hesitated for just a few seconds before he reached for the food. Starved as he was, he had to be careful, he knew that, but once he got started it was hard to withstand the temptation to stuff as much food into his mouth as possible.

 _This is eerily similar to my last meeting with Arkady,_ Lucas thought. _Is Oleg doing it on purpose? It seems like he’s trying to imitate Arkady._

“You did know, didn’t you, that Director Kachimov has been promoted to FSB head of station in London,” Darshavin chatted away. “A reward for unearthing another British spy in Moscow. We are just waiting for Rangefinder to meet her asset so we can discover what information she has acquired. Perhaps then, you will have some company.”

Lucas choked on a broccoli floret at this latest revelation. It was bad enough, Harry abandoning him in this hell hole, but the thought of what Oleg would do to a woman made his guts churn.

As he coughed and gasped, Oleg slapped him on the back, harder than necessary, as if trying to help him dislodge the offending vegetable morsel.

“You should not feel guilty,” he said. “She was not looking for you.”

Lucas finally coughed up the broccoli. It hit the floor with a wet splat.

“Things are changing, Lucas,” Darshavin rambled, sounding almost melancholy. “The world is moving on without you. Only Lushanka remains the same.”

Lucas had no words for how he felt. His stomach twisting up in painful knots and his whole body aching were mere symptoms for a much deeper and all encompassing mental agony. Desperately, he concentrated on taking deep breaths and he had to close his eyes.

“Don’t you enjoy your dinner?” Darshavin queried with false casualness.

“I… got something… into the wrong throat,” Lucas all but croaked.

“Easy…” Darshavin soothed, ruffling his captive’s hair, only to scold next, “You shouldn’t gobble like a hog, though, Lucas. You’re not a wild beast.”

_Then stop treating me like one!_

By a hair’s breadth, Lucas would have spat it out loud. Choking it down, he tried to smile instead as he turned back to the food hesitantly. Of course, he still was hungry, but the latest news had curbed his enthusiasm considerably.

Reaching down, Darshavin picked up a few grapes. Plucking one off the stem, he slowly pushed it past his lips and chewed pointedly. A crooked grin cracked his features.

_Bastard!_

Having no desire for more broccoli, Lucas also chose fruit instead and took some strawberries. They were fresh and ripe, sweet treats for his deprived tongue. As Darshavin neither objected nor did anything to keep him from eating, Lucas slowly helped himself to more food. Carefully, he chewed and took only small bites to make the feast last as well as to ease hisdigestion. Finally, when he simply could not eat any more,Lucas sighed contentedly and sat back, one hand resting across his stomach, which was stretched tight it was so full of food.

“What? Finished already?” Darshavin mocked. “The guards who helped me prepare this feast will be very disappointed. It might not be healthy for you to disappoint the guards.”

Now Lucas’s overfull stomach cramped painfully with anxiety. He had wanted more, but he just could not take it. He had stopped just shy of uncomfortably full, and knew, after being starved for so long, even a few more bites could make him violently ill. As it was, his metabolism had slowed to such a crawl that he was likely to be constipated for days.

Of course, he could not tell Darshavin that and in lack of a better reply, he chose to remain silent.

“Well, if you are finished we can proceed with the program, right?” Darshavin cheerfully stated and stood to go to the door and knock. When it opened, another man came in whom Lucas recognized at once even though a year had passed since he had last seen him.

Warily, he watched the newcomer set down the bag he carried and spread a woollen blanket on the wooden bench Darshavin had occupied before. Suddenly, Lucas’s mouth was dry and his insides churned. Not with fear. At this point he did not give a shit one way or the other about the actual procedure that awaited him. What was getting to him was the reason why Darshavin was about to put him through that procedure in the first place.

“I brought you a present,” Darshavin told him happily.

_Because it’s a symbol._

While the stranger unpacked his equipment, Darshavin looked at Lucas expectantly. Having no other choice, Lucas stood and went over to lie down on the bench. As he stretched out prone, Darshavin approached him. Lucas put his chin on his forearms and tried to relax which was not easy lying on his over-full belly. In addition, he could not shake off the feeling that his captor was up to something bad. Apparently, he was right as he felt two fingertips touch his bare back. Slowly they moved across his skin and Lucas wondered what Darshavin was doing until he realized that he traced the contours of the domes marking his skin.

 _Six,_ Lucas counted with his captor’s motions.

_Seven._

Lucas sensed Darshavin pause before his fingers moved further down, circling a spot right on his spine.

_Oh, crap!_

Right at that moment, Lucas knew that it was going to hurt. Even the pressure of Darshavin’s fingernail was uncomfortable. The spot was too close to bones, the skin thin and full of nerves.

 _What’s his name again?_ Lucas tried to distract himself. _Did Oleg even tell me his name?_

He heard the men talk to each other but did not pay attention to what they said. Despite better intentions, Lucas listened to the preparations and tensed with anticipation. Any second now the needle would pierce his skin and set his nerves on fire.

‘What do you care? It’s not your first tattoo,’ devil Harry whispered.

 _Shut up!_ Lucas inwardly screamed. _Shut up and get lost!_

It was then that a stinging pain made him suck in a sharp breath through his nose. Clenching his teeth, he prepared for the next sting. With every dot that added to the shape of the onion dome the ink etched a constant reminder of eight years lived in hell into his skin.

_Eight years._

Once getting a dome tattooed for every year spent in prison had filled him with stubbornness and pride as it meant that he had survived the evil that was done to him, but now a dull ache paralyzed him. Time seemed to slow, every sound, every sensation being perceived more clearly in a state of suspension. It almost felt like his breathing ceased and his heart stopped beating.

Closing his eyes, Lucas willed the moment to pass, but it seemed to take forever until the man put his machine down. Listening alone did not tell him what was going on. Footsteps indicated that the man left. Darshavin said a few words that Lucas could not understand due to a rush in his ears.

Cautiously, Lucas flexed his muscles. It hurt. He felt light-headed and his stomach rolled unpleasantly. Reflexively, he obeyed to the order to stand up. Like in trance, he followed Darshavin back to his cell. The door closed with a thud.

For a few endless seconds, Lucas stood in the middle of the cell, staring at the tiled wall but seeing nothing but emptiness.

All of a sudden, he darted to the cot and grabbed for the bucket beneath it. With painful heaves, he emptied his guts. In the end, he huddled on the floor, clutching the bucket, and fought for every ragged breath. Disgusted by himself, he spit out in a vain attempt to clean his mouth.

_Well, looks like I won’t be constipated after all._

His bitter comment could not fence off his repulsion and misery. His gaze fell on the shabby blanket on the cot and an atrocious thought formed in his mind.

 

tbc…


	13. No way out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to lead to my interpretation of the flashbacks of S8 e4, so you know that you have to expect a very dark chapter. This said, I want to thank everyone for sticking with my story and for your support through reviewing as well as the kudos. Enjoy!

**Chapter 12 – No way out**

 

For a long moment, Lucas looked at the blanket but found himself unable to move. The smell rising from the bucket made him sick and he awkwardly shoved it aside. Stretching out on the concrete floor, he willed his stomach to settle. Feeling sick for quite a while, though, he could not find rest. Where it had dully ached before with hunger, his stomach now rolled unpleasantly with too much food that it was unable to digest.

_Guess I would’ve thrown up anyway. I’m simply not used to food anymore._

As he lay and listened to the gurgling sounds coming from his insides, he held on to gloomy thoughts. In the end, he must have fallen asleep, though, as he woke to a still lit cell, feeling considerably more at ease.

The latter only applied to his stomach.

His soul was still aching. In fact it seemed to become more and more unbearable with every breath he took. There was an emptiness inside of him that had nothing to do with lack of food. It was the dearth of diversion that wore him down.

In an attempt at distraction, Lucas reached for Darshavin’s book. Reading was so much easier with the lights switched on. Unfortunately, the plot could not keep his attention for long and his thoughts drifted back to the cloth on the cot.

_It’s so worn, it wouldn’t be an effort._

The thought almost derailed.

_It’s so worn, it might not be strong enough._

Before Lucas could suit the action to his thoughts, the door to his cell opened. Two guards appeared and gestured him to get up. Swiftly but still full of reluctance, Lucas got up and went with them. They led him to a room on the far end of the corridor where Darshavin was already waiting.

_What the hell am I doing here?_

Lucas had a lump in his throat and tried to step away. At once, the guards grabbed his limbs and shoved him to the door where he planted his feet against the frame. His resistance quickly earned him punches to his side. Twisting around, he attempted to fend them off, which only resulted in a quick but thorough beating that convinced him that obedience was the better option.

_I should be in London. Arkady! Where are you?_

They told him to strip and this time he obeyed. Numbly, his feet carried him over to the bench Darshavin indicated. His stomach did somersaults at the sight of the arrangement. Car battery and cables, manacles and chains, a jug next to the water tap. Lucas choked as he sat down on the bench. On the periphery of his vision, he could see Darshavin move to his right. A moment later, he felt a hand alight on his shoulder. It slowly moved to the back of his neck where the fingers tightened, keeping him from backing out as a guard stepped forward to shackle Lucas’s wrists. A chain ran down to the manacles that were placed around his ankles.

_Fuck!_

Darshavin let go of his neck and his hand trailed over to the other side of Lucas’s shoulder. His touch was almost tender and a chill ran down the spook’s spine. With trepidation, Lucas listened to his interrogator’s footsteps. He heard water running and knew for sure that he would not like what was going to come.

_Which is pure understatement. God, please get me out of here! At least don’t let him do this to me. Please._

‘Begging?’

Devil Harry’s hiss in the back of his mind startled Lucas. No, he did not want to beg.

Cold water poured over his head and ran down his body, accompanied by another shiver.

He had no intention of begging. Begging was the last thing he would do.

He might not be able to control it, though.

Lucas banished the devil to his subconscious.

 _I’ve been through worse,_ he told himself. _I’ll take it like a…_

“Aaaarghhhhhhhhh!”

The scream tore off his lips when the first electric shock hit his system. Involuntarily, he jerked in his bonds and tensed his back. The spot of the fresh tattoo was still throbbing.

Gasping for breath, Lucas slumped forward. Darshavin stood behind him and reached for his neck. Gently the fingers of his now gloved hand slid up his neck, over his Adam’s apple and to his chin, lifting it up and making him straighten in his seat.

“Who do you think Harry sent?” Darshavin asked close to his ear. “I don’t think that dear Helen still is with Section D, right?”

_How the hell am **I** supposed to know?_

“Right?” Darshavin repeated.

When Lucas still did not answer, another gush of water poured down over him. A second later, another electric shock made him scream and writhe. Once more, he was breathing hard when his captor gently forced him to sit up.

“I really cannot imagine that Harry would send sweet Jo to Moscow. She is still wet behind the ears.” Darshavin chuckled. “Harry would not trust a rookie with a mission like that.”

_Who the hell is Jo?_

“But then… that’s Harry’s job, right? Sending young officers on missions they might never come back from.”

Groaning, Lucas tried to shift his position. Even though he told himself that he did not care, Darshavin’s words chipped away at his resolve. They might be disguised as interrogation, but in reality they offered Lucas glimpses at his team. Glimpses that taught him a bitter lesson: By now Darshavin, an officer of the opposing Russian intelligence service FSB, knew more about MI5’s Section D, the counter terrorism department, than he did himself.

“Do you really not want to tell me about Rangefinder?” Darshavin prodded.

From his neck the hand trailed up to Lucas’s hair, ruffling it affectionately. The gesture made bile rise in Lucas’s throat.

“No?”

Lucas saw the guard lift the contacts a second before blinding pain shot through his body again. Throwing his head back, he roared with rage and agony. When he fell forward, he could hardly stay sitting on the bench. Only Darshavin’s helping hand kept him from toppling over. There he sat slumped, his elbows on his thighs, drawing raspy breaths. Small shocks seemed to ripple through his body.

“Who is Rangefinder, Lucas?”

All Lucas could do was shake his head. He had no idea. The whole team might have changed. Actually, it was quite likely that he did not know anyone anymore after eight years had passed.

_Except maybe Harry._

Grief tightened his chest.

More water poured down his body.

“You see?”Darshavin said jovially. “This is why they do not care if they get you back. You know nothing anymore.”Once more, his hand was in Lucas’s hair, toying with the unruly strands. “They have gone on without you. You are… dispensable.”

His words hit home hard, setting his soul aflame as much as the electricity did with his body just a second later. Writhing, Lucas cried until his voice broke. Tears ran down his face as he slumped forward. Bonelessly, he leaned back when Darshavin’s hand straightened him up again, the chains tightening and preventing him from falling backwards off the bench.

“You are mine to do with as I please,” Darshavin murmured close to his ear, pausing ominously, “forever.”

Lucas was not left time to process those words as another shock made him scream.

 

xXx

 

_Forever._

Darshavin’s words still echoed in Lucas’s mind when he was long dumped back in his cell.

_You are mine to do with as I please._

_Forever._

Like a brand, those words were burnt into his soul by repeated torture and the simple fact that he was rotting away in Lushanka for years now.

So far, Lucas was not able to move. He lay where they had dropped him right in front of the cot. The sourish smell of his own vomit assaulted his nose and made his stomach revolt as nobody had cared to empty the bucket. All he was able to do was scoot back a little to where he halfway lay beneath the cot.

Except from that, he refrained from moving unnecessarily. Even just slightly shifting his position hurt. As long as he remained still and concentrated on breathing, he was okay, but a twitching muscle or actual movement resulted in pain coursing through his body.

On the upside, his agony made him feel more alive than he had felt in ages, but the downside was that that made him even more aware of his incarceration. There was not even a window that offered a view outside. All he had were tiled walls, a cot, a bucket with two-day-old vomit, a chair, and an interrogator who lived to make his life a hell he could not escape from.

_Forever._

Forever was such a long time if one spent it suffering.

_Not that I have forever, but for as long as I live is way too long already._

_You are mine to do with as I please._

His gloomy thoughts returned to the cloth on the cot. Yes, that would be the best. For him. For everyone.

Hurting with every move he made, Lucas fought to stand up, propping himself against the wall. The cool tiles soothed his aching flesh. Finding the narrow ledge in the wall, he pulled himself up. Unsteadily, he stood for a moment, his cheek against the tiles, willing the world to stop spinning.

When he finally could stand on his own again, he turned to the cot to pick up the cloth. Tearing it into long strips was not hard to do as worn as it was. Knotting the pieces together proved to be more difficult. For some reason, Lucas was lacking the fine motor skills.

Maybe it was due to the fact that his whole body was still throbbing from the electric shocks.

Maybe it was just his imagination.

_Maybe I’m just sick of it all._

Looking up to the ceiling, he found a pipe that appeared to be sturdy enough. He tied a noose and climbed onto the chair to try and fasten his makeshift rope to the pipe. That turned out to be more difficult than he had imagined as he was unsteady on his feet.

 _Still after effects of the shocks,_ Lucas thought and stepped back down to try something else. Lucas developed quite some determination at throwing the rope at the pipe. He did not count how many attempts he needed in the end.

Satisfied with the result, he stood, his gaze fixed on the noose.

_There is no other escape. It’s the only way out._

It did not scare him. All the sight stirred up in him was fresh determination.

Once more, he climbed onto the chair.

_Forgive me, Elizaveta. I wanted to come back to you, but this is no way to live. I can’t bear it anymore._

Carefully, he placed the noose around his neck.

_Sorry, Harry. I should’ve done this much earlier._

Closing his eyes, he tried to steady himself. A tremor passed through him. Why was he still standing if it was so easy to push the chair away? One kick and he would be free.

_Forever._

Lucas flinched when he heard the door unlock.

_No!_

Kicking at the backrest of the chair, he tried to unbalance and fall.

“Lucas! No!”

But the chair did not tip over.

A second later, Darshavin was by his side. Arms wrapped around his upper legs in an attempt to steady him. For a second, his hair tickled Lucas’s stomach when he pressed so tight that his charge had no chance at falling. Then the interrogator reached up to remove the offending noose.

Groaning with annoyance, Lucas let it happen.

There was no fight in him anymore. In addition, the honest shock and concern in Darshavin’s shout confused him. How could the man put him through the most horrendous tortures and still care as much as it seemed? It was beyond him.

Numbly, Lucas allowed Darshavin to manoeuvre him around until he sat slumped in the chair, leaning bonelessly into the other’s steadying embrace with his arms hanging loosely by his sides. His chin tucked in the crook of his torturer’s neck was all that held him upright.

Darshavin took hold of his upper arms and tried to make him stand, but only when other guards joined them, they were able to move him to the cot.

Lucas could not care less.

He felt wool scratch his back as they made him lie down and fleetingly wondered where the blanket came from. Then the thought fell from his mind and he zoned out.

Lucas could not tell how much time had passed when he started from what felt like microsleep. The sourish smell was gone. Someone had cleaned out the bucket. The chair was gone as well.

 _Better safe than sorry, huh?_ Lucas thought bitterly.

As his gaze drifted around the cell, he found the chair near the door, though, occupied by a guard who watched him wearily.

Inwardly, Lucas groaned.

_They’ve put me on suicide watch._

In a British prison, he would likely be in the hospital wing now, restrained to the bed with padded manacles. A nurse would cater to him and he would receive medical treatment.

Obviously, that was not current method at Lushanka.

_Where’s Oleg?_

Recalling the way Darshavin had cared for him when he had been sick, he was somewhat surprised not to find him at his side. Instead, he felt the gaze of the bored guard on himself. He felt tempted to talk to him, but he realized that he had no idea what he should ask him about. Actually, he was pretty certain that the guard would not answer anyway, being ordered to keep quiet.

_So it comes down to Oleg again._

A fact that Lucas loathed. Having Darshavin as his only source of human contact meant having to endure more abuse just for the slightest prospect of interaction.

Hearing the door open, he ignored the newcomer until he appeared beside the cot.

“Hello, Lucas,” Darshavin said. “How are you doing?”

_Cold. Miserable. Hurting. Thanks for asking._

“Peachy,” he heard himself answer wryly and cringed inwardly.

Unexpectedly, Darshavin chuckled.

“I brought you more books.”

Lucas’s heart skipped a beat with joy and he did his best to avoid showing any emotion. At the same time, suspicion shot to the forefront of his mind. This had to be a trick. One more way to torture him. More subtle, which surprised Lucas as Darshavin was anything but subtle.

_Still trying to imitate Arkady, are you?_

Slowly, Lucas sat up. Just for a second, he had doubted Darshavin’s words but as he turned around, he saw that he held a stack of books. Carefully, Darshavin put them down on the cot and leaned against the wall.

“Do you want to talk?” he offered.

“No.”

Darshavin refused to accept that. “We should talk.”

Lucas looked up at him warily. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I would not call what happened yesterday nothing,” Darshavin sternly told him. “Tell me why, Lucas.”

_Yesterday?_

When Lucas did not answer at once, Darshavin demanded, “Show me respect, Lucas! Tell me why!”

As he could not think of a better answer, he said, “Why not?”

“Why not?” Darshavin parroted, obviously caught on the wrong foot.

Lucas shrugged. “You told me that there is no escape from Lushanka…” he trailed off to pause, “I thought I found one.”

“That is no escape, Lucas,” Darshavin sadly replied. “You should not even contemplate that.”

At that Lucas smirked sourly. “Why not? So you can further torture me?”

“So you can live.”

Once more, Lucas was stunned by the passion in Darshavin’s words.

“Live?” he shot back. “Is _this_ …” he gestured around him, indicating the prison, “…is this worth living for?”

“Life is always worth living,” Darshavin stated matter of factly.

_You have absolutely no idea._

Emotionally drained, Lucas shook his head tiredly.

“You gave me every reason to believe that I’m worthless,” he told his torturer, “to you as well as my own people. I don’t intend to die on _your_ terms.”

His gaze hardening, Darshavin eyed Lucas intently.

“Instead you will live on them.”

That was what Lucas suspected.

Turning brusquely, Darshavin started for the door. After a few steps, he stopped short and looked back at Lucas over his shoulder.

“I will be back shortly.”

That was a promise Lucas had suspected as well. With trepidation, he watched Darshavin leave, knowing that whatever awaited him when he came back would not be good. The guard never stopped watching him. As he would not be able to engage him in conversation, Lucas turned to the books but he could not muster enough interest to pick one to read. Instead, he lay back down and tried to return to sleep.

 

tbc…


	14. Zugzwang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There'll be the threat of rape. Just mentioning it to be on the safe side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the kudos. As writing this is quite an effort, I value your signs of appreciation.

Sleep did not come. Lucas was not sure how much time had passed, but it had to be at least a few hours. The latest events did not allow him to find rest. Over and over again, he played the crucial minutes in his mind. He had been so close to escaping this hell-hole. If it had not been for Darshavin coming in at the exact wrong moment, he would have peace now.

_Crappy timing!_

It felt like a cruel punishment. He disobeyed Darshavin by trying to commit suicide and his sentence was life. Not for the first time, Lucas felt like that. He had long since come to the conviction that his imprisonment in Russia was his penance for everything he had done wrong in his life. Right now, it hurt worse than ever before.

Rolling onto his side, Lucas tried to find a more comfortable position. It did not help, but now he looked right at the books that still lay on the bed beside him. One was pretty thick and when he eyed it closer, he saw that it was a Russian edition of Tolstoy’s _War and Peace_. A work that would keep him busy for a long while.

_At least until Oleg decides to take it away again. Or the others._

There were five books in total. Along with Tolstoy came Dicken’s _Great Expectations_ , _Father Brown_ by G. K. Chesterton, _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ by George Orwell, and _Little Lord Fauntleroy_. At the latter Lucas had to chuckle.

Finally, he felt able to try and read and returned to _Doctor Thorne_. He had barely made three pages when Oleg Darshavin entered his cell, carrying a wooden box.

_What is he up to this time?_

A guard followed right behind Darshavin with a folding chair and table that he set up in the middle of the cell before he left again. Darshavin put the box onto the tabletop and shoved the furniture closer to Lucas’s cot.

Curiously, the spook eyed his interrogator. Without a word, Darshavin opened the box and placed a board on the table.

_Chess!_

Biting the inside of his cheek, Lucas avoided showing any reaction. The offer came totally unexpected and he did not want to challenge his luck.

“White or black?” Darshavin asked, sitting down on the folding chair and taking some pieces out of the box.

Lucas shrugged.

With a sigh, Darshavin continued to place the pieces on the board, giving Lucas the white ones. Lucas watched silently and wondered what the hell was going on.

“All right,” Darshavin said. “You start.”

_Fine with me._

Still harbouring suspicions about Darshavin’s intentions, Lucas moved one of his pawns. Darshavin did the same. For a couple of minutes, they played silently until Lucas could not bear it anymore.

“This is weird,” he admitted.

“Chess is weird?”

“Playing chess with you is,” Lucas shrugged, moving his bishop. “Check.”

Open incredulity was reflected in Darshavin’s features. Frowning, he eyed the board, trying to figure out what he had missed.

“Checkmate in three moves,” Lucas told him. Seeing the other’s expression darken, he bit his bottom lip. He had better pay attention to Darshavin rather than the game.

Finally, his captor made a move and Lucas countered.

“Don’t you want to check that move again?” Darshavin asked.

“No,” Lucas shook his head.

Scowling, Darshavin studied the current setting of the remaining pieces. It took a while until he made his next move. Seeing that Darshavin made the mistake he had expected, Lucas reached for his knight and took one of the black bishops. To his astonishment, Darshavin looked surprised and made the only move that was left open to him.

“Checkmate,” Lucas said as he moved his queen.

If he did not know better, he would have said that Darshavin pouted. For a moment, he feared that his captor might become angry enough to take harsh measures, but he seemed to rein himself in and asked for a rematch.

Lucas complied readily.

_Well, he’s not the best player, but I shouldn’t complain. Playing chess is definitely preferable over torture._

Entering their fourth game about two hours later, though, Lucas began to rethink his earlier assessment because he actually became bored. Darshavin was no match for him and Lucas found it increasingly harder to focus on the game. As it was, he could have read while Darshavin was thinking about his next move and still beat him easily. Instinctively, Lucas knew, though, that picking up a book now would be a bad mistake. Unfortunately, his interrogator was well trained in reading him.

“Something wrong, Lucas?” Darshavin asked.

“No,” he shook his head and made his next move.

“You seem… distracted.”

“Then you got the wrong impression,” Lucas told him, offering a small smile.

Darshavin scowled deeply. “You don’t even think about your moves.”

“That’s not true,” Lucas stated. “I do think about every single one… I just don’t need that long.”

Still scowling, Darshavin looked him up and down suspiciously. “Are you bored?”

“No…” Lucas lied and hoped that he sounded convincing enough. Judging by Darshavin’s expression that was not the case.

“You _are_ bored.”

“No, I’m not,” Lucas defended himself anxiously. The interrogator could be quite unpredictable and he just was not sure what to make of this exercise. “It’s just… I seem to be more familiar with chess than you are. My dad started teaching me how to play when I was eight.”

As he watched Darshavin, his heart started to beat faster, but nothing happened. Instead, the other man turned back to the game and concentrated hard on his next move. He really did his best, Lucas could tell as much, but about twenty minutes later Darshavin was in zugzwang. No matter which move he chose, it would always be unfortunate for him. For a moment, Lucas was tempted to let him win, but in this situation it would be too obvious. Even Darshavin would notice if he lost on purpose now. As a result, he beat him another time and wassurprised when Darshavin set up the pieces again.

“Who taught you?” Lucas asked, hesitating to make the first move.

“Books.”

“Who are you playing with?” Lucas could not help but prod and finally chose a pawn.

“I’m playing with you.” Darshavin chose his pawn directly opposite of Lucas’s.

The spook was stunned. _He taught himself chess to play with me?_ It was outrageous. He rarely received anything but torture from Oleg Darshavin. Seeing the efforts he went to now stood in extreme contrast to his usual behaviour. It seemed out of character and Lucas decided to tread carefully.

“So you’re not playing that long yet?” he asked.

“No,” Darshavin agreed and countered Lucas’s next move.

“Well, considering that you’re playing well,” Lucas told him with a small smile and decided to let him have this game.

As he usually played several moves ahead in his mind anyway, Lucas now used that technique in order to put Darshavin at an advantage. His planning required more thinking. That way, he also paused after the other’s moves, which gave Darshavin the impression that it became harder for Lucas to win. That was all right with the spook.

‘You actually intend to let him win on purpose?’ devil Harry hissed.

Surprised that his subconscious popped up once more, Lucas paused even longer with his next move.

_Sure. Call it a survival tactic._

‘I call it cowardice,’ the imaginary imp said. ‘You’re afraid he’s going to turn into a sore loser and take it out on you.’

 _What if I am?_ Lucas replied wearily as he deliberately sacrificed a rook to give Darshavin an advantage. _He won’t let me die. I have nothing to offer him. If my only choices are to endure pain or avoid pain, I’d rather avoid pain._

‘That doesn’t make you a survivor, it makes you a coward!’ the devil on his shoulder provoked.

‘Oh, leave him alone!’ angel Harry finally chimed in. ‘He has enough problems without you goading him!’

‘I feel everything you feel, Lucas,’ devil Harry continued, ignoring his angelic counterpart, ‘and I’m not afraid.’

 _No, Harry, I don’t believe you feel anything at all,_ Lucas responded.

‘I feel disappointment, Lucas, that you, with your intellect, would let this troglodite win a silly board game just to avoid a little pain,’ devil Harry told him. ‘I thought you were more of a man than that. What could he possibly do to you that would hurt more than everything he has already done?’

Lucas was not sure what to reply to that, but an image of a faceless woman, Rangefinder, and what Darshavin could probably do to her, flashed before his inner eye. It was the one thing that scared him more than pain. Actually, he still could not quite believe...

‘Oh, I don’t think he’d do it himself,’ devil Harry interrupted his thoughts. ‘He might be a pig, but he fancies himself a gentleman.’

Lucas actually breathed a sigh of relief. If even the devil on his shoulder was putting his mind at ease...

‘But I wouldn’t be surprised if he let the guards have a go at you, especially if Arkady really has lost interest. He could make a gift of you, to help him stay on their good side.’

Lucas’s guts knotted up tight at the thought that Belyakov would take cruel advantage of being given a free reign. When he looked at the board, his heart started racing. Without even thinking about it, he had checkmate in four moves.

He heard a wicked chuckle from devil Harry.

Frantically, Lucas racked his mind about how he could avoid winning this game.

‘Maybe you should concede,’ angel Harry suggested.

‘As if that wouldn’t be an obvious ploy to let him win,’ devil Harry snarled. ‘Which do you think would piss him off more, eh? Embarrass him by winning again, or humiliate him by quitting before you beat him?’

‘Tell him you’re tired, or you’re hungry,’ angel Harry suggested. ‘Use it as an excuse to negotiate for better treatment.’

‘Don’t be an idiot!’ devil Harry chided. ‘It’s already apparent that Lucas is going to win. If the barbarian wants to win, that will just be a reason to starve and abuse him more. Tell him you’re bored, Lucas. Tell him he’ll learn more from watching you play a better opponent. Tell him you’ll explain your strategy as you play if he finds someone who can challenge you.’

‘You know, a little _quid pro quo_ might not be a bad idea,’ angel Harry agreed. ‘He gets chess lessons, you get company, everyone wins.’

‘My God!’ devil Harry gasped in astonishment. ‘Sarcasm is utterly lost on you, isn’t it?’

“Lucas?”

“Huh?” Lucas reflexively replied when Darshavin startled him out of his crooked musings.

“You were far away with your thoughts, Lucas,” the interrogator stated. “I can’t help but think that you’re bored.”

“No,” Lucas shook his head and thought hard about which explanation he should offer. They had already talked about how Darshavin taught himself, sodespite the objections of the clamouring voices in his head (which were not at all disturbing),he decided to take his chances with an offer, “I just wondered if maybe you’re interested in learning from me. Instead of just playing I could teach you.”

“You think I’m stupid?” Darshavin spat.

“No!” Of course, Lucas knew that his captor was not stupid, he just was… simple. He tried to educate himself and to a degree it worked. Darshavin just would never reach the degree of civilization he strived for but which came naturally to Lucas.

“You said I am playing well.”

Biting his bottom lip, Lucas racked his mind about how to reply. For someone who had learned from books alone he was indeed playing well, but he did not think that he could tell him that. With a start Lucas realized that actually he was the one in zugzwang. Not in the chess game, but in real life.

He could not win.

He could not let Darshavin win.

He would suffer either way.

Besides, this was not about chess anymore. Maybe it never was to begin with. This was about who was the better man.

_The better gentleman, judging by how he tries to imitate Arkady._

Control was slipping from his fingers. Lucas knew there might not be anything he could do now to appease Darshavin, but he had to at least try and make him see reason.

“You are and with some training you would be even better,” he praised. “Why not take advantage of me? I could…”

Lucas never got to telling his torturer what he could do for him as Darshavin shot up from his seat and backhanded him with such force that it threw him aside. His head hit the metal frame of his cot and his vision blurred. Hearing the table being pushed aside and toppling over against the wall made his heart skip a beat. Trying to dodge the next punch, he stumbled off the cot and landed on the concrete floor. A vicious kick drove into his side, throwing him onto his back.

“Oleg,” he groaned, holding up his hands placatingly.

Darshavin was having none of it, though, lunging at Lucas. Grabbing him hard, he yanked him up and shoved him against the wall which brought them out of sight of the guard by the door. Snarling with rage, Darshavin beat him brutally.

All Lucas could do was curl up and bring up his arms to protect his head. For the first time since he was in Lushanka, he was assaulted in his own cell. Occasionally one of the guards knocked him about, but Darshavin’s intensive interrogations usually took place in other rooms. That his torturer abandoned his habit now told Lucas better than anything else how much trouble he was in.

The punches raining down on him winded Lucas. Repeatedly, he gasped for breath and he needed the support of the wall at his back. In vain he tried to defend himself without hurting the other man as that would annoy Darshavin even more. Suddenly the attack stopped. Searching support, Lucas put his hands on his knees and leaned against the wall heavily. Standing in a somewhat crouched position, he allowed himself to take a much needed breath.

“Oleg?” he moaned. “Why? What did I do…”

 _Wrong_ , he wanted to say, but the word caught in his throat. Out of widening eyes, he stared up at his captor who just looped his belt by pushing the end through the buckle.

Twisting around, Lucas tried to get away from Darshavin.

Without success.

Darshavin was much faster than Lucas and easily grabbed him, snaring the belt around his neck.

“Oleg, no!” Lucas gasped and felt the loop tighten.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he tried to steel himself, but sooner rather than later his need for air made him struggle. Reaching up and behind himself, he sought to scratch Darshavin but had no leverage. He could not get his fingers under the strangling leather either and air was getting short. Desperately, he clung to the other’s arm in a vain attempt at loosening his grip. Once more, his vision blurred and he was certain that he would die which left him peculiarly confused.

All of a sudden, the pressure on his throat lessened and Lucas eagerly sucked in harsh breaths.

“Let go,” Darshavin hissed.

Bewildered, Lucas actually let go with one hand, searching support on the wall instead. Only a second later, the noose constricted again, sending him into another panic. Reflexively, he clawed at his captor’s arms again.

“Let go of me,” Darshavin snarled. “Show me respect! Take your hands off me!”

Tears of fear and rage shot into Lucas’s eyes. Torn between reflexive obedience to his keeper and survival instinct, he could not make his hands release their grip. Staying upright became a challenge and as he felt his senses dwindle he sagged in the other’s brutal hold. He came to sit on the floor, Darshavin never letting go of his stranglehold.

_Oleg, don’t!_

Having no air left to utter a single sound, his plea remained unheard. Lucas’s legs jerked as his body fought against the looming nothingness.

_Air!_

As suddenly as the attack came he could breathe again and he slumped to the floor where he lay on his back in a quivering heap. Over the rush in his ears, he could hear that Darshavin shouted something, but he could not understand the actual words.

He did not care either.

Coughing and choking, Lucas tried to regain enough control over his shivering body as he needed to take deeper breaths. Before he could clearly focus again, though, Darshavin was back.

“You may be able to outwit me in chess,” Darshavin spat, “but you won’t prevail over me. I’m the master here. I know you inside out. Don’t you dare defy me.”

“No,” Lucas croaked barely audibly. His neck was sore and his throat still constricted by the leather belt.

“Face it, Lucas,” Darshavin snarled. “There is no escape.”

 _Not even by death,_ Lucas filled in what his keeper did not say just as the belt tightened again. _Fuck! Don’t, Oleg! Please!_

Struggling feebly, Lucas tried a last time to fend him off, but his hands were slapped away easily and dropped to his sides. Blackness crept in on Lucas. His legs twitched. Then he lay still.

Being only half-conscious, he did not notice how Darshavin got up and received a chain and padlocks from the returning guard. Dimly, he was aware that someone took his right wrist and roughly dragged him to the side, but he hardly noticed the clatter of the chain. Only when Darshavin reached for his neck again, he weakly raised one hand to keep him away.

Slowly his awareness returned, but he was in no way capable of avoiding the chain being locked tight around his neck.

_What is he doing?_

The second he tried to roll onto his side in order to breathe more easily, his question was answered painfully. Cruelly the chain pressed against his throat as he put strain on it and he fell back.

_What…?_

Obviously the chain was fastened to the floor.

 _No,_ Lucas recalled, _to the grid of the drain._

No matter what it was locked to, the chain held him down at a short length and a sob escaped him at the realization. It was followed by the next shock when he felt Darshavin’s hands on him again. This time they fumbled open the drawstrings on his tracksuit bottoms.

_No!_

Refreshed panic made Lucas’s heart jump into his throat as his trousers were pulled down and off his legs.

 _Nooo,_ was all that came to his mind when he saw his worst fears confirmed as his briefs were roughly removed as well, leaving him completely naked.

_No._

_No…_

_No, no, no._

Shivering uncontrollably, Lucas lay with his eyes closed and prayed that his torturer would have mercy. A whimper escaped him when Darshavin’s trousers brushed against his thigh and his hands opened and closed reflexively.

Still caught up in his terror, Lucas never heard the retreating steps. That he could not see what was going on around him intensified the horror, but ironically he could not force himself to open his eyes.

Lucas still expected his captor to make a move on him when Darshavin was long gone. He still lay there shivering, anticipating further violation. It took about half an hour until he was able to process the silence around him. When he finally opened his eyes and found the cell deserted, new tremors coursed through his body.

Only now, he realized that he was crying. Shame at his own weakness drove fresh tears into his eyes. Fear, humiliation, and relief added up and left him devastated.

Sobbing uncontrollably, he cried bitter tears of desperation.

 

tbc…


	15. The calm after the storm

Exhaustion had made Lucas fall asleep. When he woke with a start about twenty minutes later, he first did not remember what had happened and tried to roll over, only to be stopped by the chain around his neck. Choking, he rolled onto his back again and his memory returned.

It drove fresh tears into his eyes. Wiping at them with the back of his left hand, he tried to suppress them without success.

 _I shouldn’t cry about it,_ Lucas scolded himself. _He just roughed me up a little. I endured much worse. Stop it, Lucas North!_

Easier said than done.

Silent tears ran down his face as Lucas could not stop crying. His emotions were still raw, leaving him drained and exhausted.

‘What are you? A sissy?’ devil Harry hissed. ‘Pull yourself together!’

‘Can’t you leave him alone?’ angel Harry reprimanded his counterpart. ‘Look at what that cretin did to him. He’s suffering enough already.’

‘Oh, I know exactly what the moron did. I can see it. I can _feel_ it.’

‘You might want to stop and think,’ angel Harry suggested, steering closer with his cloud and tapping his forefinger against the devil’s temple, ‘then you could see that it’s not just about the latest assault.’

‘I see,’ devil Harry drawled, crossing his arms over his chest, ‘we’re wallowing in general self pity.’

‘Nobody’s wallowing in self-pity, you dork!’ angel Harry huffed, grabbing the devil’s pitchfork and poking his bottom.

‘Ouch!’ devil Harry exclaimed indignantly, rubbing his bum. ‘That hurts!’

‘Oh, I was wrong,’ angel Harry teased, ‘nobody except you.’

Lucas could not help but chuckle at the devils’ antics.

_I might be bonkers now, but they’re entertaining._

His battling subconscious was a result of his attempt to come to terms with what Darshavin had done to him. Lucas was still struggling. Being chained at a short length did not help with coping at all. As it was, he could hardly move, which started to become a problem right now as Lucas felt the need to relieve himself.

_If Oleg’s not coming back soon I’ll have to do it lying down._

Lucas was infinitely aware of the consequences. Filled with dread, he watched for signs of his body weakening. The stirring was unmistakable. Slowly, he felt the pressure intensify.

_Now it’s getting urgent._

He shuddered as another spasm passed through him. He knew he could not hold out much longer. The pain from his cramping muscles was becoming almost unendurable, but he refused to just give in. He would hold out until it became physically impossible to resist the urge. Darshavin would get what he wanted, eventually, but Lucas would fight him to the bitter end every time.

‘Unless that’s what he really wants,’ devil Harry pointed out. ‘If it is, you’re already giving it to him.’

‘I hate to admit it,’ said angel Harry, ‘but he makes a valid point.’

‘And you’ll have endured all this suffering for nothing,’ devil Harry said. ‘If he wants a fight, you’re giving him one. If he wants you to piss yourself, he’ll just leave you here until you do. What’s the point? Why not just do it now and get it over with?’

Lucas squeezed his muscles against another violent spasm and tried to breathe through it while he thought about the answer to devil Harry’s question.

 _The point is,_ Lucas thought, _Oleg can’t **make** me piss myself._

‘The hell he can’t,’ devil Harry argued.

 _He can’t,_ Lucas insisted. _He can bloody well wait until I’m too exhausted to hold it any longer, or he can beat me or electrocute me or just scare the bloody hell out of me, but the only thing that can **make** me piss myself is the overwhelming physiological need of my own body._

‘You say that as if there’s really a difference,’ devil Harry sneered.

‘But there _is_!” angel Harry shot back right away. ‘Don’t you see? The fight is in his mind. He’s outnumbered, malnourished, exhausted. Physically, Oleg can force anything he wants, but as long as he doesn’t _choose_ to give in, that loathsome bastard will _never_ win!’

‘I doubt Oleg will know the difference,’ devil Harry grunted.

Lucas wanted to thank angel Harry for explaining it so well and to tell devil Harry it did not matter if Darshavin understood what was happening, but then it was too late. With a groan of disgust, Lucas had no other choice than to let his water run.

_Damn, Oleg! I want a shower!_

Squirming, he tried to get as far away from the urine as possible. Unfortunately, it ran toward him and trickled down the drain.

_Ewww!_

After everything he had lived through during his imprisonment, Lucas had thought that he could not be shaken by something like this, but had to realize that he was. Loathing and mortification burnt inside him. Yet, at the same time, he felt a fresh resolve that startled him.

Lucas had noticed it before but did not explore it further. There was a new force. When he thought about it now, he had already caught a glimpse at it while Darshavin had still been present…

…and had tried to kill him.

The method Darshavin had chosen was eerily similar to how Lucas had attempted to commit suicide. By a hair’s breadth, he would have dangled from the pipes in the ceiling, his body jerking with the futile fight for another breath.

The latter was exactly what he had done when Darshavin nearly squeezed the life out of him. Even though he had wanted to die only a few hours ago, Lucas suddenly was determined to live and fought for air with everything he had.

Once he got over the shock, he felt more alive than he had for a very long time.

‘Fool,’ devil Harry piped up. ‘That’s just adrenalin, nothing more.’

‘Oh, you’re such a git,’ angel Harry snorted derisively. ‘I should nick your pitchfork again and poke you until you can’t sit anymore.’

‘Come and try it!’ the little devil challenged, wagging his tail enticingly. ‘If you’re brave enough…’

‘Just wait and see,’ angel Harry remarked and charged at his counterpart.

After a short brawl, they vanished with a puff that coincided with the door being opened. A guard came in, carrying a tray. Just for a second, he was in Lucas’s line of sight. The spook wondered where he had gone as he just heard his retreating footsteps. It did not take long, though, until he returned. His steps were the only warning Lucas got before a gush of cold water hit him.

_Shit!_

Lucas definitely disagreed with the guard’s idea of a shower but he would be damned if he told him so. Shivering, he watched how the man picked up the tray off the cot and came to set it down on the floor. For a few seconds, the guard stood there and looked down at Lucas who did his best to ignore him. Lucas’s heart skipped a beat when the other’s boot prodded his bare thigh and came dangerously close to his bottom. A moment later, the guard gave a rough snort and left.

_Thank God for small favours._

Fleetingly, Lucas wondered if there still was a man sitting guard inside his cell, but he dismissed the idea. Where would be the sense in it? Chained as he was, he could not do anything to take his own life.

_Maybe swallow my tongue._

Smirking, he turned his head to take a look at what the guard had brought in. Quirking one brow, Lucas eyed the meal suspiciously. On the tray were a bowl with sliced apple and a plate with two thick sandwiches.

_Too good to be true._

And relatively easy to handle in his current position. With some difficulty, Lucas managed to turn onto his right side, which enabled him to reach out for the food. He pulled the tray closer and picked a piece of apple. It was wonderfully sweet and juicy, and Lucas decided to have the rest later. Instead, he tried one of the sandwiches. One bite, tasting…

…and it was all Lucas could do not to wolf it down eagerly. The fresh tastes of lettuce and tomato mingled with cheese, chicken, and mayonnaise. Forcing himself to take small bites and chew thoroughly, Lucas enjoyed his treats. Eating slowly also helped with making the food easier to digest. After being starved for so long, Lucas still feared becoming constipated when he was offered a rich meal.

 _Maybe that’s why they’ve given me an apple,_ he mused. _The fibre is good for digestion after all._

‘Or maybe they decided to stuff you like a Christmas turkey and have you for dinner,’ devil Harry taunted.

‘You’d happily provide the bonfire for the roast, wouldn’t you?’ angel Harry grunted. ‘Leave him alone.’

Smirking to himself, Lucas ignored both imps and reached for another slice of apple. Lying back, he closed his eyes and delved into the delicate taste.

 _What variety is it?_ Lucas wondered and realized with a small start that he could hardly recall any name of the sorts he once was familiar with. _Does it matter? It’s delicious._

Chewing consciously, Lucas took pleasure in feasting on something as simple as apples. Coming across a piece that was a little more tart and harder than the others, he noticed that biting it was uncomfortable at some places. Like everything else, his teeth had suffered under the poor sanitary conditions. When, if ever, he came home to London, he would have to bite the bullet, hoping he did not break a tooth on it, and go to the loathed dentist.

Savouring every bite, Lucas devoured one slice after the other. No matter how slowly he ate, though, the end of his feast came much too soon. At some point, his fingers found only an empty bowl and he licked off the juice to relish even the last remains.

Satisfied for once, Lucas lay and stared at the ceiling. As strange as it seemed, right now he felt at peace, and he started to believe that Darshavin had actually done him a favour.

As he still felt drained, Lucas closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind and go to sleep. Obviously, it had worked as he was woken a few hours later by someone nudging him. Stirring, Lucas felt at once how sore his back was from lying on the concrete floor, and he also was rather stiff when he shifted his position.

“Hello, Lucas,” Darshavin greeted, once more prodding his thigh. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” Lucas grunted, unwilling to hide his anger.

“Good!” Darshavin cheered with fake joy. “Now, what are we going to do with the fresh energy?”

Thoughtfully, he put one hand over his mouth and shifted his position. The latter made Lucas aware of how Darshavin towered over him. One of his feet was between his legs which instantly put Lucas on edge.

His obvious unease made the interrogator laugh.

“What’s the matter?” he asked with evil amusement, nudging the spook’s butt with the tip of his shoe.

Squirming, Lucas tried to avoid the intimate touch.

“Modesty, Lucas?” Darshavin taunted. “C’mon! Who are you kidding? I have seen you naked more often than your wife.”

Unfortunately, that was true. Even worse… now Lucas had to think of Elizavieta and his heart clenched with the painful knowledge of what he had lost.

Another prod made him jerk. With difficulty, he battled the reflex of kicking at Darshavin. Seeing the gap-toothed sneer, Lucas contemplated if he should not change his mind and drive his heel right into the other’s genitals.

Darshavin stepped aside and settled down like he would for a picnic.

Lucas was still seething. Being unable to turn enough to face his captor properly, Lucas glowered at the man who was now sitting beside him on the floor and leaning his back against the wall.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Darshavin asked nonchalantly.

“Yes,” Lucas replied guardedly. “Thank you, Oleg.”

“You’re welcome.”

For once, Lucas was under the impression that Darshavin was truly being honest.

‘Maybe he feels guilty for how badly he treated you,’ angel Harry suggested, ‘and tries to make up for it with granting you some comforts.’

‘Stop kidding,’ devil Harry grunted. ‘He doesn’t care about Lucas. Don’t mistake convenience for kindness.’

‘Oh, shut up, you!’ angel Harry hissed and grabbed his counterpart by the tail. Yanking on it, he pulled the devil with him and they returned to the back of Lucas’s mind.

Expectantly, Lucas watched his interrogator who eyed him in return. After what felt like eternity, Darshavin asked, “Did it work?”

 _Did what work?_ Lucas wondered but remained silent. All he felt capable of was glowering at his interrogator.

“Did it pull you out of your lethargy?”

It was all Lucas could do not to gape at Darshavin. _That was the purpose? You abused me like that just to jolt me from my misery?_

What frightened Lucas was not the taunt, it was the fact that it had indeed worked, which told him that Darshavin actually knew him better than he liked to admit.

“Yes, it worked,” Darshavin mused, letting his fingers run from Lucas’s shoulder and along his side. “You are angry. Anger is good. At least you are not apathetic anymore.”

Lucas cringed at the other’s touch. As gentle as it was, it still alerted him. Whenever he was subjected to torture, he knew why it was done and what he had to expect. Darshavin’s gentleness, though, always put him on edge.

“You do not need to thank me, Lucas,” Darshavin shrugged. “You are still welcome. I could not let you wallow in misery. I could not stand seeing you like that.”

_Instead you condemned me to live. Thank you very much._

Right now, he went through a mix of emotions that he had come to be so familiar with since his arrest in Moscow.

“You did not really think I was going to rape you, did you, Lucas?” Darshavin murmured, caressing the spook’s thigh. “Did you?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Lucas forced himself to shake his head even though he still was not so sure about it.

“What did I tell you about lying to me?” Darshavin scolded, pinching Lucas’s side. “I know when you are lying, so quit trying.”

Biting his bottom lip, Lucas nodded slightly.

“You should know that I would not do that to you,” Darshavin coldly told him.

Lucas did not think that he refrained from doing it out of goodness of the heart.

“It would push you over the edge… and render you useless.”

_That sounds more like you._

“You know,”Darshavin went on unperturbed with actual fondness lacing his voice, “you always were my favourite, Lucas.”

_If I’m your favourite I don’t want to know what you’re doing to the unfortunate souls who are on your bad side._

Lucas’s insides constricted as Darshavin affectionately stroked his hand over his greasy hair.

“I really will miss you.”

Now that phrase startled Lucas out of his gloom.

_What does he mean? Was he transferred? Is Oleg leaving Lushanka?_

Lucas did not know why that prospect filled him with trepidation.

‘Really, you should be glad,’ angel Harry said hopefully. ‘The next guy might not be as bad. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say!’

But Lucas was not so sure if Darshavin leaving was a good thing.

‘Don’t be stupid!’ devil Harry replied. ‘The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know.’

Still toying with Lucas’s hair, Darshavin began to reminisce about their time at the prison camp, “I remember, when I first came to Lushanka, you had just arrived yourself. We both had to adjust which was not conducive to our cooperation.”

‘Torture also wasn’t conducive, you imbecile,’ angel Harry shook his fist at Darshavin. ‘If I could do like I want to…’ Leaving his threat open, the little angel slapped at devil Harry instead who dared to settle on the edge of his cloud, bearing a broad smirk of approval.

Lucas felt his muscles tense in response to his subconscious. Even though he agreed with the Harrys wholeheartedly, he still knew that giving in to such daydreams would only get him into trouble.

“It took some time until we found our stride,” Darshavin went on. “Becoming acquainted with each other was a long hard road.”

 _That’s one way to put it,_ Lucas thought and recalled his own first impressions. Actually, Lushanka was appropriately described by its title _prison camp_. It was a conglomeration of barracks somewhere out in the marshes. At his arrival, Lucas only caught glimpses of the camp’s surroundings. The guards dragged him to one of the buildings and locked him into one of the cells. That first one did have a window, but it did not allow a view out at the marshes as it faced the courtyard. Right then, Lucas had thought that he was in the back of beyond and that they would forget about him there, but only about a week later, Oleg Darshavin had entered his life and put him through a torture session that put Lucas’s previous interrogators to shame. From then on, Lucas expected every day to be his last and dreaded the opening of the door. He could hardly believe that another year had passed when he was led into another room and a new dome added to his tattoos on Darshavin’s order. Back then, Lucas had thought of Darshavin as just another torturer who made his life a never ending hell.

_Now, I’m probably not giving him enough credit. He may be brutal and a cretin and generally not all that bright… but he_ _has learnt and he knows how to handle a prisoner._

Only then did he realize that he must have missed some of the other’s rambling. At least Darshavin was not talking about their first months anymore.

“I remember your anniversary party, how much you enjoyed the strawberries.”

That had been only a few days ago.

 _And the joy was very short-lived,_ Lucas remembered miserably and withstood the urge to shake his head as Darshavin’s hand still was in his hair. _Your idea of a party was rather degrading where the guest of honour was concerned._

Darshavin scratched Lucas’s scalp lightly as one might do to a dog.

 _Could you stop that?_ Lucas inwardly snapped. _I’m not your pet, Oleg!_

‘Well, I believe that’s exactly what he thinks you are,’ devil Harry cut in. ‘How else do you explain the way he’s treating you?’

Unfortunately, Lucas could not explain it. Professional, was the word that came to his mind first, but it was not true anymore. It might have been in the beginning when Darshavin used intensive interrogation in order to elicit information from the prisoner in his charge. Now? Now they were connected by an intense, warped relationship that was beyond psychological understanding.

‘Stockholm syndrome,’ angel Harry sighed. ‘I tell you, it’s Stockholm syndrome.’

_No, it’s not. I can’t identify it, but I know I’m not identifying with my torturer._

“Perhaps I should take you for a walk out on the marshes,” Darshavin just suggested. “We can have one last pleasant memory for old time’s sake. Would you like that, Lucas?”

Lucas was not sure whether he was expected to speak, or bark like a dog and shake his backside like he was wagging a tail. Probably none of it as he was still chained to the grid of the drain and could hardly move, let alone assume a doggy position.In the end, he just kept quiet and hoped Darshavin would take him outside. He was too tired and cold to care whether he was to die, get another jailor, or maybe was transferred to a different hell, but he would like to see the sky once more before he met his fate.

“I see…,” Darshavin drawled, ruffling Lucas’s hair, “you are bursting with enthusiasm.”

Fearing that his keeper would change his mind, Lucas forced himself to murmur, “I would like to take a walk, Oleg.”

Darshavin smiled almost tenderly.

“I knew you would.”

‘And now he’s going to tell you that it was just a joke,’ devil Harry piped up.

‘Shut it!’ angel Harry hissed, pulling on the devil’s tail.

Lucas waited with bated breath.

“All right then,” Darshavin said, using the wall for support as he propped himself up, squatting beside Lucas now. Producing a key, he opened the padlocks on Lucas’s chain. “I’ll go and get you new clothes. It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”

Lucas waited until Darshavin was gone before he carefully removed the chain from his neck and rolled over to get up. As his muscles protested, he gingerly made his way over to his cot. His whole body was sore and stiff which made him look forward even more to taking a walk out in the marshes. With a groan, he sat down on the cot and waited for Darshavin’s return.

 

tbc…


	16. The parting of the ways

_Fresh air!_

It was wonderful. When they had taken him outside to dig a grave, he could hardly appreciate the gesture as he was too scared that the hole in the ground might be for himself. In addition, he had been freezing the whole time even though he sweated due to the work and the sun warmed his back a little.

This time, he was comfortably warm, wearing a track suit, trainers, and a parka that protected him against the harsh wind blowing over the marshes. Lucas did not mind. After the long time spent inside stone walls every second outside was a blessing.

It was more than just breathing the clean air that was filled with scents of the marsh, though. Lucas felt the urge to run. Not to escape, just for the heck of it. He knew that any attempt at escape would be futile. The open marshland offered no hiding places and even if he tried to get out of sight it was likely that he sank in morass. In order to get safely away, he would have to stay on the road or the paths the guards used, which would make him an easy target.

Still he yearned to run.

Before he could think about it further, he heard himself ask, “Oleg, did you ever wonder which of us is faster than the other?”

Stunned, Darshavin uttered a small laugh. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondered,” Lucas shrugged. “Fancy a race?”

Chuckling with incredulity, Darshavin shook his head. “Even if I would, I could not allow it. In the courtyard it might be another matter, but out here our company would surely misunderstand the purpose.”

Their company, that was the other two guards who trailed about fifty yards behind them.

“You could tell them,” Lucas lightly said, even though he felt a pang of disappointment. Of course he had known that it was unlikely that Darshavin agreed, but it was still worth a try. “Send one ahead to mark the goal. Between the three of you I can’t run away.”

Darshavin seemed to ponder the idea before he replied, “I think I could do that, but I will not.”

_I thought as much._

Conspiratorially, Darshavin murmured, “You know, I have a reputation to lose, Lucas. You do not want them to think I have gone soft, do you?”

“No,” Lucas smirked.

“Besides, even though you had no practice recently, I still think you would beat me.”

Now it was Lucas’s turn to be stunned at his keeper admitting to that. He could see, though, where he was coming from. Where Lucas was tall and wiry, Darshavin was comparatively stout with a slight paunch.

In order not to ruin the mood, Lucas joked with a wink, “In the courtyard then?”

Darshavin smirked back and they continued walking.

A few minutes later, a cry piqued their interest. Darshavin produced field glasses and had a look at the source of the sound, a circling bird of prey. Lucas also looked up at the raptor, but it soared too high for him to make out enough details in order to determine the species.

“Can you tell me what it is?” Darshavin asked and held the binoculars out.

Surprised, Lucas accepted the field glasses and zoomed in on the bird.

“Looks like a pallid harrier,” he told his keeper. “A male one.”

“How do you know it’s male?” Darshavin queried with honest interest.

“It’s white below and has black wingtips,” Lucas explained without losing sight of the harrier. _He’s beautiful._

“Let me have another look.”

Readily, Lucas handed the field glasses over even though he wished he could watch the bird a little longer. No matter if he was asked politely or yelled at, any request better be considered an order. Darshavin kept watching for a moment before he returned the binoculars to Lucas. Nodding his thanks, Lucas raised the glasses and kept watching until the harrier soared too high and drifted away to the north.

In companionable silence, they resumed wandering. Lucas was glad that Darshavin did not feel the need to keep a conversation going. That way, he could listen to his surroundings, the wind blowing through the reeds, their shoes grating on the path, the songs of birds and crickets, and the buzzing of insects. Sounds Lucas had not heard for ages and that he relished now.

Noticing movement on the periphery of his vision, Lucas stopped and let his gaze roam over the reed beds to their left. When he spotted the bird again, he lifted the field glasses.

“What did you see?” Darshavin asked.

Lucas was glad that he kept his voice low and murmured back, “One moment. I’ll show you.” Occasionally, he lowered the binoculars a bit to see exactly where the bird sat now, then he gave them to Darshavin. “Over there by the reeds,” he indicated the direction. “A corn crake.”

Looking for the bird through the glasses, Darshavin asked, “What is its Russian name?”

“Um… its binomial name is _crex crex_ ,” he recalled and racked his mind about the question until he mused, “I’m not sure, but I think it’s korostyel.”

“Oh,” Darshavin exclaimed which startled the bird and it flew away. “If it is, I have heard of it.” He chuckled. “Especially by night. They’re pretty loud, calling _krek, krek_ repeatedly.”

“They can be heard from about a mile away,” Lucas agreed.

At that, Darshavin offered him a crooked smile that Lucas could not quite place. Pride seemed to mingle with annoyance. _About my extensive knowledge of birds?_ It looked like Darshavin intended to say something more, but then he just turned and started to walk again.

After a few minutes, Lucas felt compelled to ask, “How long have we got?”

“For the walk?” Darshavin asked back. “Until we’re back… well, before dusk.”

“That’s… generous,” Lucas muttered. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Lucas. Really.”

The small smile that accompanied his words made Lucas think that he actually told him the truth. Darshavin wanted to do this, make Lucas happy, at least for a moment, before…

 _Before what happens?_ Lucas wondered. _Before he is transferred? Before I’m sent away? Before I’m executed? Is this my last day?_

Suddenly fear knotted up his stomach.

“Maybe we will be lucky and see another great bustard,” Darshavin said out of the blue.

“Well, not if we’re talking so loudly,” Lucas dared to tease.

Pretending to zip his lips shut, Darshavin winked at him. Once more, they resumed walking but it did not take long until Lucas was stopped by a hand on his arm. Pointing to their left, the interrogator held the binoculars out to him.

A smile played around Lucas’s lips as he watched the birds his keeper had discovered. Even though they were big they were not easy to spot as their grey bodies blended in with the marshland.

“I have no idea why they’re called common cranes,” he murmured. “I don’t see anything common about them. They’re such beautiful and graceful birds.”

“You really admire them,” Darshavin stated.

“Yes, I do.”

Lucas could not get enough of watching the birds. Cranes were one of his favourites and he felt honoured to be able to watch them in their natural habitat. There was a whole flock of them, about forty to fifty individuals. Every now and then, one of them spread its wings and fluttered, showing off the powerful wings. The sight triggered a renewed yearning for freedom in Lucas.

“Your father taught you, right?” Darshavin asked.

“Huh?”

“Bird watching. You said you went together.”

“Yes, we did,” Lucas murmured, his voice taking on a sad note. He wished he could be here with his dad now instead of his torturer.

“He taught you a lot of things.”

“Of course he did,” Lucas replied. “He’s my father.”

“You can count yourself lucky that he spent so much time with you.”

At that, Lucas just smiled. This was getting a bit too close and personal. _But then, when doesn’t it?_

“There will be better times,” Darshavin mused aloud. “Maybe then we could go bird watching together again. You could show me the places you visited with your father.”

_Stop right there, Oleg. That’s none of your business._

Darshavin’s rambling distracted him and his stomach rolled unpleasantly at the idea that his captor actually seemed to believe they could be friends if only the circumstances were different.

“We could go and watch the grebes at Tilbury water tower.”

_What the hell are you talking about? Arkady obviously gave up on me so I won’t ever be free again… and even if I would there’s no chance in hell that we’d go bird watching together._

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Darshavin said thoughtfully. “Come, Lucas. Let us go on.”

Lucas hesitated to abandon the cranes. Who knew if he would ever get an opportunity to watch birds again? If this was the end, he wanted to savour this walk as much as he possibly could.

“Lucas! Do not dawdle!”

Finally, Lucas tore himself off the magnificent view and trailed behind Darshavin. His reluctance had to be obvious as the interrogator asked, “Lucas, what is wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas replied. “You tell me.”

Eyeing his charge sceptically, Darshavin said, “I do not know what you mean.”

Lucas sighed. “Something is going on, Oleg. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“What should be going on?”

Seeing that his queries would not gain him any more insight, Lucas muttered, “Nothing. Let’s go.”

Walking alongside Darshavin, Lucas was absorbed in his own thoughts. His previous assumption that his keeper was the one who was going to be transferred could not be correct. So it had to be about himself and he hardly dared to fathom what awaited him once they returned to the camp.

‘Well, maybe you’re worrying in vain,’ angel Harry tried to assure him. ‘It could also be that Arkady finally got the wheels in motion.’

‘You still believe in miracles, don’t you?’ devil Harry sneered. ‘It could also be Lucas is right and they’re going to…’

‘Stop right there if you know what’s good for you!’ angel Harry snapped. ‘You won’t scare the poor boy!’

‘I really don’t think that he needs me for that,’ the devil smirked sourly.

No, Lucas definitely did not need devil Harry to picture the possible implications.

‘Easy, Lucas,’ angel Harry reassured. ‘I’m sure nothing bad will...’

 _Stop kidding! At a place like Lushanka? There’s nothing_ but _bad things happening!_

By now, Lucas’s stomach was rolling unpleasantly. All those casual remarks… he could not shake off the dreadful feeling that Darshavin was trying to play him and he racked his mind what it could be about.

“I am really going to miss this,” Oleg said with a hint of regret.

There was the mystical hint again.Lucas tried to conceal his panic. As he would not talk to Lucas about it,Darshavin’s words could only mean one of two things. For eight years, they had failed to break him and they had failed to turn him. He could not imagine that they would squander too many more resources on him, so either he was going to be transferred to another prison, maybe someplace worse than Lushanka; or he was going to be executed. The former hardly seemed possible, except that he had become used to Lushanka and would have to adjust to a new routine; the latter seemed much more probable.

“Once you are at K-17 there will not be any walks outside its walls,” Darshavin continued. “I was not supposed to tell you, you know.You are going to Siberia, my friend.”

So, it was not a death sentence, then. Lucas blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay, but there was nothing he could do now to control his shaky breathing. His feet only kept moving out of force of habit, and somehow, he managed to continue stumbling on and listening to Darshavin talk.

“Yes, we have given up on you, Lucas,” Darshavin told him. “I have done my best work with you, and you have withstood everything.” He sounded almost admiring, but a little disappointed. “My superiors are convinced that you have nothing to tell. Fortunately, for you, we always need inexpensive labour in Siberia. You might even earn a salary there. You will grow old and die there, but you will live a while longer.”

Lucas had heard of K-17. It was a labour camp outside of Krasnoyarsk, a place for ordinary prisoners. He would have work to do, other people to interact with, perhaps one day, he might even be allowed visitors…and mail!

He wanted to collapse to the ground and sob in relief. Compared to Lushanka, it would be almost a normal life.

But to whom would he send his letters? Elizaveta may well have moved out of the house they shared. Even if she did get his letters, if the Service had left her to believe he had abandoned her, she might never open them. If she has been told he is dead, they may come as too much of a shock and leave her afraid to respond or be taken as a cruel joke and be discarded.

He could not very well start writing to Harry Pearce. Initiating correspondence with the Head of Section D after eight years of disavowing any knowledge of their activities would only send him straight back to hell or earn him a bullet in the head. Even using one of MI-5’s secret post boxes could be risky. After eight years, he had no way of knowing which ones were still truly secure and secret and which ones had been discovered and were monitored by enemy spies in the UK.

His joy was rapidly disintegrating into despair, but Lucas was well acquainted with battling emotions.

He would write the new minister of his father’s old church in Cumbria. That would be the place to start. He would explain as much as he could of his circumstances without alluding to his spying activities, and then ask for their support and prayers. Maybe after a few letters had been exchanged, he could request a care package, practical things like socks and underwear, and a few long-missed treats from home like Chocolate HobNobs, jelly babies, and Twining's English Breakfast tea. His mouth was already watering at the thought.

Then it occurred to him that the little chapel where his father had preached a lifetime ago could now be defunct. Lucas had stopped attending service there when he left for Uni as a young man, and there had only been a couple dozen parishioners then, most of them elderly, none of them with children under the age of ten. Maybe he'd do better to contact the church in Sedbergh. In a town of three or four thousand people, that church was sure to still be open, and perhaps if he told them where he grew up, they could contact some of the members of his father’s congregation who might still remember him.

Somewhere in the midst of all his planning, his tears began to escape.

“Oh, Lucas, I’m touched,” Darshavin mocked him. “You really are going to miss me, aren’t you?”

Lucas did not care about the mocking. He was too engrossed in thoughts of a future where he was no longer alone and beatings were no longer something to be craved for the simple promise of human contact they offered.

‘Stop daydreaming,’ devil Harry snarled. ‘You can’t know if it’s not another trick.’

‘You are such a twat,’ angel Harry admonished. ‘At least _something_ good is happening in his life and you have nothing better to do than put him off it.’

‘You shouldn’t support him in his fantasies,’ the devil shot back. ‘The more he hopes, the harder he’ll fall.’

_Can you shut up? Both of you? I’d like to enjoy the rest of this walk._

In order to buy himself a little more time outside, Lucas tried to slow his steps. Of course, Darshavin noticed it and cast him a stern look. With an unconcealed sigh, Lucas fell in stride with his keeper again.

Following a turn of the path, they approached the prison camp again. It still was well ahead, but the end of their outing was foreseeable now. Far too soon, they came up to the camp’s entrance. A few steps away, Lucas stopped and turned around, letting his gaze roam over the marshland and committing everything to memory he had seen during their march.

“Lucas,” Darshavin prodded.

Resigning himself to his fate, Lucas followed the interrogator across the courtyard and into the building. The corridor seemed to drag on and by the time they reached his cell, Lucas felt horribly tired.

“I will get you dinner,” Darshavin declared.

“Thanks,” Lucas muttered unenthusiastically.

Eyeing him closely, Darshavin teased, “You will not fall asleep over your meal, will you?”

“No,” Lucas shook his head. “Thank you.”

“All right. I will be right back.”

A shudder ran through Lucas when he heard the door fall shut. Shaking his head slowly he tried to get rid of the feeling of dread that returned with a vengeance. He took a few deep breaths and settled on his cot. In order to tide over until Darshavin’s return he picked up _Doctor Thorne_. He had only a few pages left and wanted to finish it before he was transferred. Only a few lines later he felt his eyelids growing heavy and it became increasingly difficult for him to focus on the plot.

_Wow! I didn’t think the walk would wear me out like that._

‘You were outside for quite a while,’ angel Harry said. ‘And you’ve got to take everything else into consideration as well.’

‘Well, yeah, considering what thesvolochput Lucas through, I actually was surprised that he didn’t collapse out in the marshes,’ devil Harry sniped.

‘Oh, c’mon! Give him some credit!” angel Harry frayed. ‘You don’t trust him with anything, do you?’

‘I do trust Lucas!’ devil Harry defended himself. ‘He’s my best man after all!’

‘Best man, huh? That’s why you’ve let him rot here for eight years now, yes?’

‘I have _not_ …!’ the devil puffed, smoke rising from below his feet. ‘I’d move heaven and earth to get him back! If there was a way…’ he trailed off. ‘All I was saying was that he’s suffered a lot! Everyone has his limits… even you.’

Their dispute continued, but Lucas could not follow them any longer, so they retreated back to his subconscious, angel Harry shoving devil Harry off his feet with his cloud. Lucas’s eyes fell closed… and flew open again as he startled out of his microsleep.

_Oleg will be back soon._

Lucas had hardly thought that when Darshavin returned. The smells that wafted over to him made his mouth water.

_His sudden pampering is disturbing._

“There you are,” Darshavin told him as he set the plate onto the small table that had not been taken away after their chess games.

Lucas knew that he stared, but he did not care. It was a full warm meal that included _kascha_ but also carrots, peas, and kohlrabi. The best thing, though, was the thick slice of rolled pork. The filled meat looked and smelled delicious.

“Enjoy,” Darshavin lightly said.

Lucas did not need to be told twice and tucked in. The first taste of the roast almost winded him. It was tender and juicy and the best roast he ever had, at least as far as he remembered. The filling also was delicious, a mix of mushrooms, broccoli, dried tomatoes, and cream cheese.

“When?” Lucas asked between two mouthfuls.

“When what?”

“The event you weren’t supposed to tell me about,” Lucas murmured.

Darshavin shrugged. “They did not tell yet. Probably about a week, maybe longer.”

“Okay.”

Leaning against the wall, Darshavin watched Lucas eat. “Another game of chess when you are finished?”

“Seriously?” Lucas asked back, allowing slight amusement to lace his voice.

“Yes,” Darshavin declared with conviction.

“Fine with me.”

‘Could be another trick!’ devil Harry cut in from a corner deep in Lucas’s mind.

The spook ignored him and continued to enjoy his meal. That he was watched the whole time did not lessen his joy.

“Oleg Mikhailovich?” a guard interrupted.

“Shto?”

“Vam k telefonu,” the guard reported.

“Sichass,” Darshavin replied and turned to Lucas. “Looks like we have to postpone our game.”

“No problem,” Lucas assured him and was secretly glad that their game was cancelled as he was terribly tired. “I’ll be here.”

“Yeah…” Darshavin murmured and reached out to ruffle Lucas’s hair. “See you later.”

Lucas rolled his eyes at his keeper’s retreating back. As so often, he did not know what to make of his kindness. He knew, though, what to do with his meal. Eating slowly, he relished every bite of it.

When he was done, Lucas lay back on his cot contentedly. He intended to reflect on the latest events, but the constant emotional uproar as well as the physical abuse left him so exhausted that he fell asleep as soon as he stretched out.

Next thing he knew was that he was forcefully torn from his sleep. Hands were everywhere on him and panic hit instantaneously, making him cry out with fright, when a sack was pulled over his head and secured with a drawstring. Nobody cared. Instead, he was jerked up from the cot. The multiple grip on him steadied Lucas who was too stunned and scared to fight back when iron manacles were locked around his wrists and ankles.

_What…? Who…? Why…?_

No coherent thought formed in his mind. It was a nameless terror that filled the spook right then. All he knew was that something _was_ happening, but he had absolutely no idea what it was. When they pulled on his arms to move him forward, Lucas planted his feet and a wordless scream tore from his lips. It did him no good to resist, though, and as they manoeuvred him to the door and out of his cell only one thing came to his mind.

“Oleg!”

A punch to his side made him gasp for breath and his next scream changed into a grunt, “Oleg!”

“Zamkniss!” a man snarled and they continued to drag him along.

All of a sudden, they came to a halt.

Breathing hard, Lucas stood between the men holding him.

_Oleg, help me!_

Under the hood, his eyes were wide with fear and he heard his blood rush in his ears. Time seemed to expand as they stood like that. Lucas could have sworn that he sensed the men’s impatience.

“Oleg?” Lucas heard himself ask and instantly hated how plaintive he sounded.

 _This is wrong,_ he thought in a panic. _If this was the planned transfer, they wouldn’t barge in like this and virtually kidnap me. What the hell are they up to? Will they execute me? Did Oleg lie to me when we were out in the marshes? Did he know and make today a pleasant day because it would be my last?_

A hand touched his neck through the fabric of the hood. Lucas’s muscles tensed and a whimper escaped him.

_This must be Oleg. Help me! I don’t want to die._

The irony was not lost on Lucas and a chill ran down his back.

The hand moved from his neck to his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. When Darshavin spoke his voice was very low, but still full of unfathomable emotion.

“Godspeed.”

Lucas choked. He heard Darshavin step aside and the men continued to shove Lucas forward. When they left the building, he began to struggle again, which was futile, being in chains and surrounded by several men.

“Oleg!” he called out again and his desperation got the better of him. “Oleg! What’s going on? Talk to me! Oleg! Oleeeeeg!”

The latter turned into a scream of terror as they tried to hoist him up. Fierce struggles did him no good. Someone grabbed the chain between his ankles. Another cry escaped Lucas when his feet lost contact with the ground and he dropped into the grasp of whoever held his arms. He felt how he was lifted up and hit a plain surface with his back.

_What the hell?_

Fighting them with everything he had, Lucas tried to free himself of their clutch and get away. A blow against his head knocked him out cold.

 

tbc…

 

svoloch = bastard / s.o.b.

*

“Oleg Mikhailovich (Russian form of address, comparable to sir / according to this address his father’s first name is Mikhail)?” a guard interrupted.

“Shto (what – less polite than _yes_ )?”

“Vam k telefonu (telephone, sir),” the guard reported.

“Sichass (I’m coming),” Darshavin replied and turned to Lucas. “Looks like we have to postpone our game.”

*

zamkniss = shut it!


	17. New perspectives

Lucas did not want to open his eyes. He was comfortable and did not feel like waking completely. For a second, he wondered if he got sick from their march in the marshland. As he did not feel sick, though, that could not be the explanation for the mattress he lay on or the duvet and pillow he snuggled into.

Confused, Lucas twisted to his right to see if anything else in his cell had changed…

…and stared right at a wall. White. Plastered. No tiles.

Incredulous, Lucas blinked a few times and wondered just where he was. His memory was sketchy. He just could not recall how he got to be here.

_Wherever **here** is._

The wall was not the only thing that was odd. Lucas’s tongue was furry and his body was sore all over. His slight nausea might be due to his thirst or his rumbling stomach. Neither explained his hurting wrists.

Lifting his left hand revealed an abraded wrist. The sight triggered fragments of his memory and he groaned at the sensation of iron manacles chafing his skin as they held his wrists together. Did they get him for another torture session? Probably. But why would they put him into another cell then? Everything still was foggy.

Taking a deep breath, Lucas braced himself and turned onto his left side. Now he could look at his new cell and when his eyes finally focused he could not help but gasp.

_Where in bloody hell am I?_

Groaning, he propped himself up on his right arm and let his gaze roam around the room. There was a chair right next to his…

 _Bed!_ Lucas realized. _I actually have a bed!_

Stunned, he took in the bundle of clothes that lay on the chair. From there, his view drifted to a small table. There were three books on the tabletop and a bowl. From his position, he could not see what was inside, though. On the other side of the cell, he discovered a washbasin. Above was a metal plate that served as a mirror and was bent to form a narrow shelf at the bottom. Atop that shelf were a plastic cup, complete with toothbrush, and soap.

_A toilet!_

With wonder Lucas stared at the fixture beside the washbasin. After having been forced to use a bucket as a latrine for about four years, an actual toilet was an outrageous luxury.

Feeling the urge to use it, Lucas swung his feet over the edge of the bed. At once refreshed nausea hit him. Groaning, he waited until the moment passed. Then he got up and padded over to the toilet to relieve himself. He could have danced with joy when it really flushed afterwards.

‘It’s too good to be true,’ devil Harry growled.

_Am I dead?_

‘No!’ angel Harry protested. ‘You’re not dead! You take proper sanitary facilities as a sign that you’re dead?’

_Compared to my last cell this is paradise._

‘You’re still a prisoner, Lucas,’ devil Harry snorted. ‘How can that be paradise?’

‘Hey! In comparison to his last cell, stupid!’ angel Harry hissed and devil Harry stuck out his tongue.

“Well, I’m still missing a window,” Lucas sighed.

Opening the tap, he washed his hands before he scooped up some water in his palm and did the same with his face. Then he took the first opportunity he got for years and brushed his teeth. When he was finished, he did it a second time. Finally, he rinsed his mouth and drank a few gulps of the fresh water. Almost immediately he felt better. Only then, he thought about trying the hot tap and he laughed aloud in delight when it actually worked.

 _Last time I got warm water was when Oleg allowed me to shower after digging the grave,_ he recalled and closed the tap.

_Time to check out the food._

Lucas padded over to the chair and put the clothes on. The same clothes that he had worn when they had removed him from Lushanka. They were freshly washed, but still as ragged as always. Shoving the chair over to the table, he sat down there. In the bowl were an apple and something he had not seen for ages.

_A banana!_

He was reasonably certain that he had last eaten a banana before he went to Moscow. Almost reverently, he picked the fruit up and removed the peel. Tasting the first bite was surreal. Lucas could hardly wrap his head around the fact that he was given such treats. His gaze fell on the books and between bites he studied the titles. All three of them were in English.

 _A Study in Scarlet!_ Lucas cheered inwardly. He always liked Sherlock Holmes. The next volume made him scowl. _The Count of Monte Christo. Thanks. Not on my favourites list right now. And the third one? Die Trying, by Lee Child. Great. I don’t know that one!_

Just for a moment, Lucas mourned the fact that the banana was gone. Dropping the now empty peel back into the bowl, Lucas decided to save the apple for later. He placed the book on the tabletop in front of him and opened the cover. Reading the author information first, he learned that Mr. Child lived in Cumbria with his wife and kid. All of a sudden Lucas’s vision blurred with tears. Just seeing the word Cumbria triggered a plethora of memories of his youth. What really got to him, though, was the idea that he could have had a family with Elizaveta by now, living in Cumbria.

_Children._

His heart ached with longing. Even though he never had toyed with the idea of leaving MI-5, he could still imagine having children. Maybe being a father would have changed his attitude toward the Service. Now he would never find out. If he ever got out of the Russian prison, he could not even expect her to be there, waiting for him.

_I’d be as alone as I am now._

A fresh surge of despair washed over him, driving tears to his eyes.

Finding himself unable to read, he put the book away and buried his head in his arms on the table.

 

xXx

 

It did not take long until Lucas settled into a new routine. Actually, there was not much to settle in to. The next time he woke, it was to the lights switching on. Not much later, he was served breakfast. When he got lunch, he was surprised by the amount of food he was given. As breakfast already had been rich, he could not eat it all. With a pang of regret, he had to leave two potatoes and some of the broccoli. It was a shame, but otherwise he would have gotten sick. When dinner came, he did not have an appetite yet and he also still had the apple he first found in his cell. Having to disregard the food was a really strange feeling, but Lucas simply could not stomach it. A while after dinner the lights went out.

From then on, they turned on and off at regular intervals that might correspond to day and night. Lucas was fed equally regularly, more food than he had seen in ages. After being starved for so long the portions were too big. All he could do was enjoy as much as he could of the well-prepared meals and leave the rest, much to his regret.

Except for the guard who brought Lucas his meals nobody came to visit. As a result, Lucas was almost finished with his book when the door opened and a familiar figure appeared.

“Arkady!” he gasped.

“Lucas,” the FSB officer greeted with honest joy lacing his voice. “It is good to see you, my friend. How do you find your new accommodations?”

“Marginally better than the old ones,” Lucas replied. It was a lie, actually. Compared with Lushanka, this place was heaven, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek in order not to smirk at the memory of how he had laughed aloud in delight when he found that both the cold _and_ hot taps at the sink worked. “Could do with some company.”

“That, I can provide,” Kachimov smiled. “Come. Let us find a more comfortable place for our conversation.”

The Russian casually strolled out of the cell, leaving the door open behind him.

At first, Lucas hesitated. Was it a trap? With no guards to escort him, was he allowed to leave the confines of his cell? What would happen if he did?

Back in Lushanka, he would be beaten, perhaps even shot for attempting to escape, and it would be just like Darshavin to set him up for such a punishment.

But this was not Lushanka, and Kachimov was not Darshavin.

Lucas tentatively followed Kachimov out of the cell. They walked down a short corridor and into another room that was also windowless but was furnished like a drawing room. Kachimov gestured at one of the easy chairs and when Lucas sat down, he took the one opposite. Between them was a small table and Lucas was pleased to find a chess board on it.

“I thought you would enjoy a game while we talk,” Kachimov explained. “Would you like a drink?”

_Drink?_

His confusion probably was visible in his features as Kachimov elaborated, “No alcohol. I could offer you some juice or…” looking over at the sideboard that served as a bar, he added, “soda or tonic water.”

“Soda would be nice,” Lucas muttered.

While Kachimov went to get the beverages, Lucas watched and contemplated his situation. If he was honest with himself he had not expected to see Arkady Kachimov ever again. As he had to assume that they had taken him to Siberia, he simply could not fathom that the high-ranking FSB officer would bother to visit him there. But here he was and he seemed to be in a really good mood as well.

 _He’s in London now,_ Lucas recalled. _Maybe he’s even met Harry. He might know about Rangefinder. Heck, if_ Oleg _knew about her then Arkady probably knows what she had for breakfast!_

Seeing Kachimov return, Lucas said, “Oleg told me about your promotion. Head of the London office. Congratulations, Arkady.”

“Thank you, Lucas,” Kachimov smiled and put the glasses on the table before he sat down again. “It is a challenging assignment.”

Raising his glass in a toast that Kachimov returned, Lucas tasted his soda. It tickled on his tongue and he had to suppress an urge to laugh. _Isn’t it fascinating how simple things that you never noticed before are quite exceptional now?_

Leaning back in his easy chair, Kachimov went on, “You seemed surprised to see me, Lucas.”

“Well,” he started carefully. “It’s been a while and… well, given the transfer…”

“You thought I forgot about you,” Kachimov stated in his stead.

Grimacing sheepishly, Lucas lowered his head in confirmation.

“I’m sorry, Lucas. I did not account for my promotion delaying things the way it did,” Kachimov explained. “I sent my letter to the powers that be the day after I left Lushanka, but it was only when I arrived in London that I realized that I did not get a confirmation yet.”

It sounded plausible.

‘Be careful,’ angel Harry whispered.

 _Yeah,_ Lucas replied, but nevertheless sought more information.

“Do we still have a deal, Arkady?”

“Why?” Kachimov asked back, surprised. “Do you wish to withdraw your consent?”

This time Lucas smirked sheepishly and confessed, “I was under the impression that you did.”

“Oh, Lucas, no!” Kachimov chuckled. “You are not just a valuable asset. You are my friend now.”

A small smile played around Lucas’s lips at the other’s statement that he believed readily. It was also true for himself… kind of. Kachimov had never tortured him and when he gave him a promise he did not break it. For a short while, Lucas had thought that he had been wrong about him after all, but now he knew that his assessment was correct.

“I am looking forward to our alliance bearing fruit,” Kachimov said, moving one of his pawns.

Lucas’s smile widened as he reached out to make his first move, but it fell when he placed his pawn on the board again.

“I was beginning to think it had died on the vine,” he muttered.

All of a sudden, he did not feel like playing anymore.

“What do you mean by that, Lucas?” Kachimov asked and made another move.

“Nothing,” he replied dismissively, shaking his head.

“Oh, but I can see that something is bothering you, my friend. Please. Share it with me.”

Lucas sighed. The question took him back to a very dark place. He really did not want to tell Kachimov about it, but if he still had any hope of going home he had to work to gain and maintain the man’s trust. There was a good chance that he was already aware of recent events, either from a report or through a conversation with Darshavin. It would not do to hold out on him, but he did not want to seem too eager to bare his soul, either.

“The last time I played chess was with Oleg,” he began.

“Oh!” it escaped Kachimov.

“Indeed,” Lucas agreed with a small chuckle and chose his next move. “He said he taught himself with the help of books.”

“And he played like that, no doubt,” Kachimov cut in.

“Considering, he didn’t play that badly,” Lucas shrugged, feeling oddly defensive of his former torturer. “I guess, though, that he probably wouldn’t have offered to play with me if…”

“If what, Lucas?” Kachimov gently prodded when he trailed off.

Lucas let a pained expression spread across his features and Kachimov scowled in response, but the Russian knew better than to press the matter. Rather than asking again, he just made his next move and waited for Lucas.

The spook sighed. He could do that now, because it would only serve to build the dramatic tension he was trying to create. This game with Kachimov had the potential to become as exhausting as the torture sessions with Darshavin, but it was a hell of a lot more interesting. When he spoke, he made sure it was low enough that Kachimov had to lean forward to hear.

“If I had not tried to hang myself,” he confessed.

“You what?” Kachimov actually gasped with shock. “Oh, Lucas! What happened?”

“I…”

Lucas found himself unable to talk about it. The lines between his game with Kachimov and his real emotions were blurring. The agony and despair returned with a vengeance, choking him.

“Lucas,” Kachimov murmured reassuringly. “Talk to me. It will help. I promise.”

“Well, time was passing,” Lucas croaked. “You didn’t come back, and… um, the _interrogations_ continued. I thought you abandoned me… just like Five did, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Kachimov’s eyes were full of compassion, and Lucas needed it so badly that it was hard not to mistake the prowling wolf for a friendly Siberian husky.

“Oh, Lucas. I am sorry. If I had known about your despair…”

“You weren’t there!” Lucas accused, his bottom lip quivering with suppressed emotion. “We made our deal, and then you disappeared for months! What was I supposed to think?”

It was safe for him to go on the offensive a bit. If the deal was still on the table and Arkady still needed him, perhaps showing a little impatience would move things along a bit.

“Eight years now, Arkady,” Lucas reminded him, lowering his voice. “I saw no other way out.”

Their gazes locked, they just sat in silence for several minutes. Bowing his head, Lucas broke contact first. It was time to show Kachimov that he still knew his place.

“Didn’t Oleg tell you what, er, happened after you left?”

At that Kachimov snorted derisively. “I tend to avoid that cockroach as much as possible. But no, I did not read about anything unusual in the reports I got.”

 _Well, it wasn’t necessarily unusual,_ Lucas thought wryly. He still fought to regain his composure but felt his left hand shaking just slightly, so he clenched his fist. As a result, a tremor coursed through his whole body.

“My go, is it?” he asked, eyeing the board again. He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning when he realized he had checkmate in twelve moves.

“Yes.”

Lucas made his move and leaned back in his chair. Its thick cushions made it quite comfortable. _When did I last sit in an easy chair?_ He did not know and he did not care. Watching Kachimov think, he took his glass. Drinking, he realized how thirsty he had become already. Playing verbal cat and mouse was arduous, a constant dance on eggshells. A single wrong word and all his effort went down the drain.

“Oleg Mikhailovich is no match for you,” Kachimov stated and changed the position of his bishop.

Lucas eyed him curiously. _The way he said it… he didn’t just mean chess, did he?_

“Oleg’s not born for chess,” he lightly said.

“No,” Kachimov replied with a wicked glee in his eyes. “I hope you were not bored.”

Even though he actually had been bored after the second game, Lucas shook his head. “It was chess after all.”

At that Kachimov chuckled. “You _were_ bored.”

It was a statement that Lucas answered with an indifferent shrug.

“I offered to teach him,” he said as he moved his knight.

“I assume he did not take too kindly to that idea,” Kachimov mused aloud, taking one of Lucas’s pawns.

“No, he didn’t,” Lucas grunted and it was all he could do not to cringe at the flashback that flooded his mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to fight the memory, and he put his hand over his mouth in a helpless gesture.

“He took it out on you?” Kachimov queried, sounding honestly worried.

Lucas nodded.

“What did he do to you?”

That was something he did not intend to share. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he straightened in his seat and lifted his gaze again to face Kachimov.

“Something he deemed to be appropriate,” he told him and was glad that he managed to keep his voice steady.

Kachimov nodded slowly. “You have to give him his due, he can be inventive.”

“Right,” Lucas murmured.

‘That’s one way to put it!’ angel Harry scoffed with righteous rage.

 _Not now,_ Lucas admonished. Outwardly, he remained expressionless. Their game was far from being over and it would be a horrible mistake to let his guard down. Carefully, he studied the chessboard, seeing that his strategy seemed to work. He moved his rook and waited to see if Kachimov did what he expected him to do. If he did, he would have checkmate in nine moves. Feeling the tension rise, he looked up at his opponent.

“You did not expect me to fall for that, did you, Lucas?” Kachimov teased, his amusementreaching his eyes.

Seeing what the Russian did next, Lucas raised one eyebrow with astonishment. He did not see that coming.

“Did you play with Harry occasionally?” Kachimov queried nonchalantly.

“We never had time to play chess,” Lucas shrugged and thought of Malcolm. “Sometimes I played with a friend.”

“But Harry played with _you_ , did he not?”

At once, Lucas was distracted from their game. This was Kachimov trying to play upon Lucas’s insecurities so he had to be alert.

“He sacrificed his pawn.”

The Russian’s words stung. In order to keep himself from any reaction, Lucas focused on the board game instead. _Speaking about sacrificing pawns…_ He made his move and lost a pawn in result. _Thanks._

Kachimov either did not notice or was too absorbed in his mind game. Lucas on the other hand decided to try and work on his chances of returning home.

“No action is without consequence, Arkady,” he said with a mischievous smirk, putting one of his bishops in a new strategic position. His comment clearly referred to Kachimov’s move, but also implied a taunt at Sir Harry Pearce. This time, he saw Kachimov almost unnoticeably quirk one of his eyebrows.

“We reap what we sow,” Kachimov agreed.

Judging by his expression, he thought of Harry Pearce as well. Lucas thought he could sense pride or at least contentment at how successfully he finally had turned the adversarial officer.

Lucas put on an evil smile.

“Exactly.” _It’s exactly what you’re bringing down on yourself. Plans and counter plans…chess._ He had Kachimov right where he wanted him to be.

After a long moment’s thought, Kachimov countered Lucas’s move.

“Risking a glance at the future…” Lucas mused aloud, “with you being in London, how would our cooperation play out?”

Paving the way, he sacrificed one of his knights.

“No direct contact,” Kachimov replied nonchalantly as if he had expected the question. “Your handler will be the one who makes contact.”

He answered with exactly the move that Lucas had anticipated. Moving his king, he attacked.

“Check,” Lucas stated matter-of-factly and warned himself, _Don’t gloat, don’t let him think you are enjoying this… even if it’s true._

Nodding his grudging defeat, Kachimov made his final move, which Lucas answered with his queen.

“Checkmate,” Lucas declared with faked regret.

Kachimov actually smirked at that.

“Lucas,” he said enthusiastically, “I am really glad that you are my friend.”

 _Don’t be so sure about that,_ Lucas thought, and returning the smirk, he came back with, “So am I.”

“That calls for a reward,” Kachimov told him with a broad smile.

Lucas could not help but be reminded of a piranha. _Does he mean what I hope he means? Will he finally take me home?_ He hardly dared to raise his hopes, as they had been betrayed so many times. _Just why hint at something he’s not inclined to grant me? We’ve been dancing around each other for about five years now since he first indicated that they would let me go if I spied for him._ He yearned to scream at him, _Fuck, Arkady! Either let me go or execute me!_

“Let us play another game,” Kachimov suggested.

 _That’s your idea of a reward?_ Lucas nearly blurted out as his hopes were dashed once again. _I tell you I consider us to be friends and you offer me another game of chess?_ Still he reached out to help Kachimov with putting the pieces back up.

“I have no other obligations right now,” he remarked with just a touch of bitterness but Kachimov did not even do as much as lift his gaze. The Russian had just made his third move when they were interrupted and Kachimov went to talk with the other man in the corridor.

Lucas pricked his ears to see if he could eavesdrop even from that distance. The two men were talking in Russian now and had lowered their voices considerably. Still the spook caught a codename he had heard before. Rangefinder. Taking his glass, he leaned back in his chair in an attempt to hear what exactly the subject was.

“…identified her contact,” the yet unknown man, likely another FSB officer, just said. “She’s going to meet him tomorrow.”

“All right,” Kachimov replied. “Make sure the intelligence doesn’t reach London.”

“What about Rangefinder?”

There was a brief pause before Kachimov tersely answered, “Execute her.”

Even though he had to expect something like that, Lucas almost dropped his glass. His entire being yearned to do something to prevent his unknown colleague from being killed by the FSB, but he was powerless. Lucas was still trying to collect himself, when Kachimov sank into his easy chair.

“Did you take your turn?” the Russian asked.

Confused, Lucas looked up. After the other’s decisive words he had kind of zoned out and realized with a start that he threatened to lose control.

“Sorry, no,” he said with a sheepish smile and a lopsided shrug. “I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts?” Kachimov prodded.

Cocking his head to the side, Lucas studied the board and said, “I guess that depends on the perspective.”

“From your perspective?”

Lucas chuckled. “Brilliant,” he replied and moved one of his pawns. “What about you?”

Kachimov returned the chuckle, “News from our office in London.”

“Good news?”

This time, Kachimov laughed. “I guess that depends on the perspective!”

_Blowing a hostile officer’s cover is good news for you, bad news for MI5. I wish I could intervene. God, I’m so ruddy useless!_

“Well, I’m sure Harry has done his due diligence in advising them all of the risks they’re taking for him,’ Lucas said indifferently. “Whatever happens, I’ve no doubt his conscience is clear and he will enjoy the sleep of the just.”

Murmuring his agreement, Kachimov turned to his next move and they continued playing in silence.

 

tbc…


	18. A bend in the road

They had played two more games both of which Lucas lost. He simply was too distracted, lost in thought about Rangefinder, MI5 in general, and Harry Pearce in particular. His emotions were in uproar. For about eight years, he got no information about home at all and now, he even learned about an MI5 officer who was about to be uncovered.

'Could be another trick!' angel Harry stated. 'They probably spoke loud enough to be overheard by you on purpose.'

_Why should they do that?_

'Could be a test,' devil Harry cut in. 'See if you really abandoned MI-5 like the Service abandoned you.'

_Well, they can hope…_

Angel Harry smirked. 'I'm proud of you.'

'So am I,' devil Harry agreed.

Either way, Lucas's thoughts were not with chess, so he was no match for Kachimov who at least seemed to remain oblivious and enjoyed the elaborate games they played as much as winning.

Once Kachimov had taken Lucas back to his cell, the spook was tired and went to bed. He could not even focus on his book, even though he really wanted to know how it ended.

After breakfast a man came, accompanied by guards, who questioned Lucas. His interrogation went on for several hours. They did not even touch him, but he still felt exhausted when Kachimov came to interrupt. This time, he could not eavesdrop on the two men as they discussed. Then the guards came and handcuffed him. They also put a sack over his head and led him from his cell.

_If I'm not mistaken, Arkady's with us as well. Where are we going?_

They passed the corridor and a couple of doors. Confused, Lucas let himself be manoeuvred around when they shoved him into the seat of a car.

_Wow, that's unexpected. Where are we going?_

As if he had read his thoughts, Kachimov spoke, "Just a short trip, Lucas. A transfer."

_Okay._

A shiver coursed through him. Sweater and track pants alone did not really protect him against the cold.

While they drove, Lucas listened intently, trying to figure out where they were going. Not that he had any clue. The world was cold and silent, which confirmed his assumption that they had indeed taken him to Siberia as Darshavin had suggested.

At the thought of his keeper, Lucas felt a sudden pang.

'Don't you tell us you're actually missing the ruddy bastard!' devil Harry blurted out.

'Really, you must be out of your mind,' angel Harry chimed in. 'Just think of how he tortured you.'

 _Didn't say I'm missing him,_ Lucas told them firmly. _It's just… I got used to him._

'See, I told you,' angel Harry poked his counterpart. 'Stockholm syndrome.'

 _It's not!_ Lucas insisted. _I would know if it was._

'As if,' devil Harry scoffed.

"Lucas," Kachimov startled him out of his reverie. "You are so silent."

Beneath the hood, Lucas scowled with confusion.

"I'm supposed to make conversation?"

"Well, you really do not need to worry," Kachimov stated. "We are almost there."

Lucas did him the favour to ask, "Almost where?" It was not that he was not curious, but he would not have asked on his own accord.

"That's a surprise."

Snorting with bitter amusement, Lucas turned his head away from Kachimov. He still could not make out any sounds that would have told him where they went.

_I hate to be clueless. I'll never get used to that part of imprisonment._

A bump in the road made the car bounce and the sound of the tires changed, indicating they drove on gravel.

 _Another courtyard?_ Lucas mused. _I wouldn't have thought that the prison camp consisted of two parts. Or did they take me somewhere else entirely?_

"Just a minute," Kachimov said, reassuringly touching Lucas's arm before he alighted from the car.

_What now?_

Listening intently did not help. Nobody talked. Lucas began to become anxious about what was going on. Suddenly, the door on his side was opened and someone took him by the arm and pulled him out of the back seat. Two pairs of hands steadied him and someone else unlocked the handcuffs. Through the thin soles of his shoes, he could feel gravel. Still, nobody spoke. It was then that the sack was removed.

Blinking, Lucas tried to focus and orientate himself.

_Dark._

_Night._

_Steel structures… a factory?_

_Two headlights in the distance._

_Three men._

In the next second, his mind drew a blank. Stunned, he could only stare before a single word exploded in his head.

_Harry!_

Lucas's heart jumped into his throat and his breathing accelerated. But there he was, Harry Pearce, head of Section D, standing right beside the other car. When Harry gestured at the men who accompanied him, one of them started forward.

_Spy swap!_

Lucas's head was spinning. The hands let go of his arms, but his first steps were unsteady, staggering, and he almost stumbled.

_Pull yourself together!_

Actually, he felt surprised by being able to form a coherent thought as his head was filled with jumbled thoughts that he could not grasp. Automatically, his feet carried him forward, past the presumed FSB officer and closer to the other car. His gaze still fixed on Harry, Lucas arrived beside his MI-5 colleagues.

"Hello, Harry…" Lucas muttered tentatively.

"Welcome home, Lucas," Harry replied amicably

 _Get away from here,_ Lucas's subconscious screamed so he barely stilled but carried on to the back of the car, Harry hovering by his side.

"How are you feeling?"

Even though Lucas had no idea how to answer this question, he heard himself distantly reply, "Fine," feeling incapable to think of anything but platitudes. "Good." It was surreal and absolutely inapplicable. The young, dark skinned fellow who came with Harry, opened the door of the car for Lucas whose attempt to be more precise resulted in, "Cold."

Brusquely, Harry pivoted around.

_What did I say?_

Confused, Lucas sank into the seat. Harry looked enraged as he strode away. Only when his commanding officer met Arkady Kachimov halfway between the cars, did Lucas realize that he was not mad at him.

 _What are they talking about?_ Lucas wondered. At the same time, he could hardly wrap his head around what was happening. _Exchanging niceties?_

While he watched Harry and Kachimov, a thousand thoughts shot through Lucas's mind that he could not grasp. Someone moved in the foreground, the young officer who got in behind the steering wheel. It took some time for Lucas to register, that the other man spoke to him.

"Ben Kaplan."

When Lucas finally directed his attention at him, he wondered just how many times he might have told him that.

"Nice to meet you, Ben," he replied dutifully before his gaze drifted back to Harry who was still talking with Kachimov.

'Maybe they're discussing how to betray you best,' devil Harry taunted. Lucas ignored his jibe. Instead, he noticed that the little devil did not quite sound like the real Harry. He also was glad that young Ben did not try to strike up a conversation.

Kachimov left first while Harry still stood and watched when the diplomatic car left the premises. It was only when Lucas caught a glimpse of the license plates that the realization sunk in that he had spent the last days of his captivity inside the embassy.

_In London!_

Once more, his heart rate soared. Everything still was surreal. Suddenly, Harry sat in the passenger's seat and Lucas had totally missed how he got there. Ben started the car and they left the industrial area, which had offered the perfectly secluded place for the secret exchange. So far, Lucas did not recognize his whereabouts. Only when they drove onto a motorway, he saw that they came from Bexley.

 _About forty minutes to Thames House,_ he automatically calculated as he leaned in his seat, head against the window, and stared out at the passing city lights, a hypnotic sight that could have lulled him to sleep if he was not high on adrenalin despite his physical and mental exhaustion.

Turning in his seat, Harry asked, "How did they treat you?"

Lucas lifted his head to look at Harry and try and judge if the compassion sounding in his voice was honest. "Sometimes well," he replied, sounding rather distanced himself. "Sometimes not."

When Harry accepted his answer without any obvious reaction and turned forward again, Lucas returned to relishing the coolness of the window against his forehead as well. His thoughts kept coming back to what Kachimov and Harry might have talked about, but he knew he could not ask. Not yet. Instead, he casually mentioned something he knew Harry would find interesting, "They told me I could come home if I'd spy for them."

A moment of tense silence passed before Harry came back with unmasked surprise and the expected hint of suspicion, "What did you say?"

Slowly, Lucas raised his gaze to face his commanding officer. Finally, he saw emotion in the stoic features. _You need to ask?_ A small mischievous smile played around Lucas's lips as he lightly joked with an incredulous touch, "I said yes." Harry's tense expression changed to a smirk that Lucas returned before he looked out of the window again.

_I'm in London._

With the insight a whole flood of thoughts washed over Lucas but only one stuck.

"Do you think we could stop for some fish and chips?" he asked. "I've got a craving."

A genuine smile crossed Harry's features as he nodded at Ben. When they left the motorway the younger officer drove directly to a chippy that was still open at that time of the night. Without being asked, Ben left to get the food, leaving Lucas and Harry on their own.

Lucas tensed, expecting more questions, but Harry remained silent. After a long moment, Lucas wondered which was worse. He was about to ask something when Harry got out his mobile phone and checked his messages. Taking a deep breath, Lucas resumed waiting. For whatever reasons, he felt his anxiety rise. A few minutes later, Ben came back and gave Lucas a generous portion that he received with a grateful smile.

His first bite of fish was an explosion of familiar tastes that he had missed for way too long. It was a reminder of home, a foretaste of what was about to come, known and yet undefined. Lucas ate with great appetite but forced himself to eat slowly and really enjoy the treat. Sooner than he had expected, they reached Thames House. As he followed Harry and Ben inside, Lucas kept munching on the remaining chips that were wonderfully crisp.

_What now?_

While Harry filled in a form, Lucas stood behind him at the reception desk. He knew he looked utterly out of place in his ragged jumper, track pants, and greasy, unwashed hair, but he did not feel it. If anything it was excitement that balanced out his exhaustion. They were about to enter the Service's office. The place Lucas had longed to be for about eight years now.

Another young man approached them. About his own age, maybe a few years younger, Lucas estimated. Light brown hair, astute blue eyes, confident gait. Another MI5 officer.

When Harry spotted the newcomer, he said, "Adam Carter," and added, indicating Lucas, "Lucas North."

A smile lit up Adam's features and he held out his hand in greeting, "Welcome home."

The other man's tone was pleasant and Lucas saw genuine joy in his expression. Awkwardly, he brushed his free hand over his worn sweater to get off the grease before he grasped the offered hand.

"Thank you," he replied with a shy smile. "Chip?"

Adam's face lit up with delight as he took one. "Cheers."

After that, neither knew what to say, though. Thankfully the silence between them did not become as awkward as it could have been. They just stood together, Lucas eating the last of his chips, until Harry was done with the formalities and they went to the elevator. Upon reaching their designated floor, Ben and Harry stepped into the pods first and did not wait for the other two when they were through, but went to meet other officers on the Grid.

Stepping into the pod, Lucas was bombarded with memories. Images of cases and events at the Grid flashed before his inner eye. They were washed away by the swishing sound of the door opening.

As he stepped out, he entered the strange and yet familiar atmosphere on the Grid. It had changed… and yet it was still the same. It looked different, but the sounds of keyboards and voices as well as the smells of coffee and adrenalin remained unchanged.

 _It's even more stuffed with technology than it was eight years ago,_ Lucas thought as he let his gaze roam around. Before he could further assess the alterations, his attention was caught by the appearance of a short woman who looked like the stereotype of a British matron with her old fashioned haircut and the cardigan over her shirt.

"Lucas North I presume," she said, extending her hand in greeting. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," Lucas replied as he took her hand. He was about to ask for her name, when she beat him to it.

"Connie, Connie James."

That name rang a bell. Still shaking her hand, Lucas's smile became admiring.

"Connie James. The stuff of legend."

"The stuff of nightmares, quite possibly," she dismissed his awe and they both laughed.

 _She seems to be nice,_ Lucas thought. _And she's got quite a reputation. Wasn't she retired?_

It was then that Lucas spotted the first familiar face except Harry's. The other man stared at him in return as if he could not believe he was really there.

"Malcolm!" Lucas called out with delight. Laughing, they embraced, and Lucas could not contain his joy, "Good to see you! How's your mum?"

"Oh, she's very well. Very well," Malcolm assured him. He stepped back to look Lucas over. "You look um…" As he paused, he looked at Lucas sadly. "You look, ah…"

Hearing Malcolm fumble for words, Lucas knew that he did not want him to find one. He knew he looked a mess. He did not need a confirmation. After an awkward pause, he was grateful when his friend continued, "Is there anything I can get for you? Hot soup?"

A chuckle escaped Lucas at Malcolm's eagerness.

"No, Malcolm, I've had chips, thanks." At once, he saw that haunted look return and went on, "But I tell you what, though. I haven't had a decent cup of tea for eight years."

This time Malcolm looked crestfallen.

Momentarily confused, Lucas prodded, "What?"

"Was it really eight years?"

All of a sudden, Lucas was acutely aware of everyone's attention focussing on him. Even though nobody really turned in his direction, except Connie who looked at him bearing a compassionate expression, Lucas knew they listened in. They were spooks. They knew how to listen without raising suspicion.

Feeling the need to dispel the tension, Lucas put on the best nonchalant façade he could muster.

"Oh, it flew by," he replied. "These Russian prisons, they're like holiday camps. They got mattresses and everything…"

If anything, Malcolm looked even worse, and Lucas found himself in the uncomfortable position of not knowing what to do about it. He wanted to reassure his friend, but at the same time he knew that there was no whitewashing the situation. He _did_ look horrible. Eight years of captivity and torture did not pass him by without leaving their mark. For the moment, though, he was saved from answering by Harry addressing him.

"Lucas, I know you're exhausted, but would you mind waiting a moment before we begin the initial debriefing?"

"Of course," he replied with an ease that he did not really feel and watched Harry, Connie, and Adam vanish in a conference room.

_Back to business._

He saw Harry standing on the other side of the glass wall, speaking to the others while he watched Lucas in return.

_Talking about me? That's what I would do._

Once more, he wondered what Harry and Kachimov had talked about. At the same time, he listened to Malcolm babbling about his mother and their colleagues now, nodding occasionally or cutting in with a short question. At some point, Ben joined them, giving Malcolm the opportunity to return to his sanctuary.

 _I should tell them about Rangefinder,_ Lucas thought as he listened to Ben answering his question about how he had joined the Service. _But then Arkady will know that I overheard them. It's quite likely that it was a test, that I was supposed to hear what they said so he could find out if I'm trustworthy._

"May I ask what happened in Moscow?"

For a second, Lucas was surprised, but if he was honest to himself he knew that he had to expect questions like that.

"Well, I was a spy who was caught spying," he shrugged. "They held me for questioning."

"For eight years?" Ben asked incredulously.

"They didn't have the evidence for a trial," Lucas explained. "It was the best way for them to keep me there… indefinitely."

It was only when he said it aloud, that Lucas realized the whole truth of his words. If he would not have agreed to the deal with Arkady Kachimov, he would still be locked in his cell in Lushanka. _What did Oleg say when he told me about the transfer to Siberia? I would grow old there and die. They would never have let me go._ His insides constricted painfully with that thought.

"Ben?" Malcolm called out for his colleague.

As Ben turned around, Lucas also looked inside the analyst's office. A message was flashing on the main screen.

 _A level 6 threat!_ Adrenalin surged through Lucas at the sight. _Al-Quaeda? So they're still in business._

"Get Harry."

Ben pivoted and strode around to do as Malcolm instructed. Automatically, Lucas followed him over to the office where Ben slid the door open.

"Sorry, uh," the young officer told his superiors, "but I think we might be in for a long night."

Lucas's mind was in overdrive. _Who are the possible suspects? Where can we find the cell? Does it have contact with other cells or is it receiving orders?_ From one moment to the other the last eight years were forgotten. It was like Lucas had never been away. He was a spook and they had a case. That was all that mattered. He was ready and approached Adam who came out of the office first…

…and walked straight past Lucas.

"Connie," Lucas heard Harry say, "contact Rangefinder. Burn the Moscow operation."

 _Harry knows she was uncovered!_ Lucas noted it with relief. _Did Arkady tell him? At least hint at it when they met after the exchange?_

When Harry stepped out of the office, Lucas intercepted him purposefully.

"Not now, Lucas," Harry told him firmly, showing just the slightest hint of compassion, and went the same way that Adam had taken. Both men entered the conference room where they would watch the video link that had been flagged.

A sharp pang pierced Lucas at being left out. He might be back, but he did not belong. Not yet. He would have to work hard to regain his position in Section D. For the first time he realized that maybe his plans for taking revenge might be thwarted by the simple fact that he was not reinstated.

 _I'm one of you!_ Lucas inwardly screamed. _Let me help._

Being ignored by Harry stung. A wave of nausea washed over him. In an attempt to compose himself he put his hand over his mouth and breathed deeply.

_Pull yourself together._

The moment of despair did not last long. Once it had passed, Lucas returned to planning. Real life chess. He was good at that. He would prove to Harry that he deserved the place where he rightfully belonged.

Strolling over to the kitchenette, Lucas glanced at screens, listened to snippets of conversations, collected information. Everyone was so busy now that nobody cared about the newcomer fixing himself a cup of tea.

Malcolm had already returned to his room, working on the extremists' video. By now, Lucas knew the soldier's name, most of his resume, and where he had last been seen. Now he had to put his knowledge to use. Seeing Adam approach Malcolm, Lucas went to join them.

"Malcolm, if we don't ID the kidnapper soon there's an excellent chance I'll spend the rest of my life in the Tower of London."

Lucas smirked. He already liked Adam Carter. He might be his chance into the team. If he could convince Harry…

"It seems things are a bit stretched," he said and waited for Adam's reaction.

_**The End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. It's done. Wow! I can hardly believe it's complete now, but I'm glad you came along for the ride. Thank you very much. :)


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